tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45571168881993836122024-03-12T17:47:26.088-07:00Chanctetinyea's BlogThe daily thoughts, impressions, experiences and opinions of a long-time writer "re-establishing" herself in the ever-changing publishing world.Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-81205240723971806922010-09-09T13:15:00.001-07:002010-09-09T13:23:40.765-07:00Coming Soon!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLJox4W50b1YYWiTncTGs7zs9uH4TmmPilviyEn2XI97XCrs0AwPF6R0I_qIKaYa2CWamo2sJrBEC7_f1WQDXLzoujgxSoHe3OpdXJUSpaPyCmxYWNguB_WruCAFjAXLfrCim2XYqMDFC/s1600/poems+past+cover+front.png"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitLJox4W50b1YYWiTncTGs7zs9uH4TmmPilviyEn2XI97XCrs0AwPF6R0I_qIKaYa2CWamo2sJrBEC7_f1WQDXLzoujgxSoHe3OpdXJUSpaPyCmxYWNguB_WruCAFjAXLfrCim2XYqMDFC/s400/poems+past+cover+front.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5515010349045964562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);"><br /><br />Coming soon!</span><br /><br />A life in verse....<br /><br />Scheduled release date: </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 153, 51);">November 2, 2010</span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-83097976816373241312010-08-17T10:38:00.000-07:002010-08-17T10:40:15.929-07:00Quote For the Day<span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><br /><br />"Never regret. If it's good, it's wonderful. If it's bad, it's experience." </span><br /> - Victoria Holt </span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-32231441281339953132010-08-15T09:09:00.000-07:002010-08-25T18:43:24.362-07:00Finally Doing It<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13W3-p8ukYRjdIcmgTY66KYuqjAt-9CNgiV-aReynH4TgjlQYICzp_B44Tm_5FIUmr1OQ0EEakMg2G_GPoC2PRIfTB7AihtpRfnJsktf6LyB4tyMzywTgbUzAsZVair3MWbx6z5cvzaYn/s1600/IMG01078-20100729-0910.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13W3-p8ukYRjdIcmgTY66KYuqjAt-9CNgiV-aReynH4TgjlQYICzp_B44Tm_5FIUmr1OQ0EEakMg2G_GPoC2PRIfTB7AihtpRfnJsktf6LyB4tyMzywTgbUzAsZVair3MWbx6z5cvzaYn/s400/IMG01078-20100729-0910.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505685588917927522" border="0" /></a> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);"><span style="font-style: italic;">Before me lies a seemingly endless stretch of road...and I have committed myself to conquering it.
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<br />As far back as I can remember, it seems, someone has asked me, "When are you going to write this all down?" or "When are you going to write the story of your life."</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Throughout my childhood, this single task loomed over me: some magnificent yet horrifying responsibility owed to the world around me. For many years, I obsessively jotted down the notes, impressions, sketches, and character analyses which were sure, in my mind, to comprise this great work.
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<br />Then...life happened.
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<br />Before I knew it, I was too swept up in living the chapters of my life to record them; still, the notes were meticulously kept. And, when nearly twenty years worth of notebooks, journals, and carefully collected research--the sum total of my identy--were forever lost, recollecting those mountains of data seemed to me an impossible task.
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<br />Just thinking about it would leave me stone-to-the-bone tired.
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<br />This past week, however, I was asked to sign a contract to publish my "memoirs." My initial reaction? <span style="font-style: italic;">Who would want to read about me? </span>Afterwards? <span style="font-style: italic;">"That would be a whole lot of freakin' work. Am I up to it?" </span>And finally, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Which part of my story would I tell?" </span>In my mind, my life falls neatly into five distinct stages (not counting the present), each of which represents a distinct volume to be written. Could I, in my state of health and with all the insanity surrounding my current existence, even hope to take on such an endeavor? Especially with the constant hindrance of oxygen-deprivation to the brain, which often leaves me struggling to remember the simplest things (like <span style="font-style: italic;">why did I come into the kitchen again? </span>or <span style="font-style: italic;">what was I just saying?)
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<br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">Then--now, in fact--I found myself facing another major medical crisis. As I lay day after day struggling with the matter, the debate--to write or not to write--raged on in my head.
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<br />This morning....
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<br />I encountered a real scare.
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<br />Now I know that if I do not tackle this project now, I might not have the chance again.
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<br />So,the process of "penning" the first of five volumes of my autobiography has begun. Whether time or its ever ebbing tides will allow me to complete it, I cannot even guess. (At this point, I am not even sure if I'll sign that infernal contract!) Even so, this resolve to at least put forth my best, most concentrated effort has cemented as bullheaded determination within the walls of my iron will.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Here goes...!</span>
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<br />I've actually included excerpts from this work as it exists thus far.
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<br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Wish me luck, ya'll!</span> </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbDEktr2mAnghlx75yBRo1H68wtW6qdeQSie2vAUgMkZGc8Vr-_pNzBAiqCRe4Jh_Jrz3-00pOn5GC59EBj2p_IAOO_b9E711F5Zr_7fvPs9BZIpBKn3yXxsOMiJTdjuuE_XdX2TWCEc3/s1600/Hate+the+Gap.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjbDEktr2mAnghlx75yBRo1H68wtW6qdeQSie2vAUgMkZGc8Vr-_pNzBAiqCRe4Jh_Jrz3-00pOn5GC59EBj2p_IAOO_b9E711F5Zr_7fvPs9BZIpBKn3yXxsOMiJTdjuuE_XdX2TWCEc3/s400/Hate+the+Gap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505694280663191922" border="0" /></a>
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<br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Where The Honeysuckles Grow</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">(The Childhood Recollections of Chanctetinyea J.J. Ouellette)</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">
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<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">...I have lived my life behind thick, impregnable walls, clamoring for the touch of unobstructed sun, wondering when the invisible gates would part, and I would be able to take that first tentative step outside them....</span><o:p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >I often wondered about life beyond those unseen walls, about the people who lived<span style=""> </span>unimprisoned, about the children ran freely beneath the yellow-white glare of the sun. Why were they free? And what had I done—what did I house inside my deepest self—which left me too grotesque, too evil, too distorted somehow to be let loose among them....<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style=""> </span>Most clearly, I remember the scent of honeysuckles, new-mown grass, and </span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" >that strange, metallic anticipation of one day--some day--escaping them both....</span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->
<br /><meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/chance/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; 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mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p><span style=";font-family:";font-size:16pt;" ><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span><o:p></o:p></span> <!--EndFragment--> Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-3217484726183390732010-08-10T08:34:00.000-07:002010-08-10T10:37:14.022-07:00Bedridden<span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-size:130%;" ><br />From a mound of pillows on my bed<br />I gaze out into the August morn.<br />Soft clusters of thick green needles<br />Lay in dense nests against the robin’s egg sky.<br />Though I strain to hear them,<br />No birds sing.<br />There is only the quiet that comes<br />From the Earth’s placid indulgence:<br />A patient vigil<br />Over mankind itself…<br />Its determined wait<br />For the collective foolishness<br />To at long last end.<br />Peace<br />I am alive,<br />Even though the gentle winds, themselves<br />Whisper that I should not be.<br />Perhaps this knowledge has evoked within me<br />The stoical resolve<br />To wait, as well.<br />For tomorrow…<br />For its meaning…<br />For my purpose.<br />Unending</span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-2981053540542362412010-07-16T22:35:00.000-07:002010-07-16T22:56:40.657-07:00Hope May Not Float, But--For the Moment--It Sure Seems To!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKb0NBExJKWWi4lYvhm8NRy1cI-7-DZ9wEmeTeHRNzKHCSLqqO36JbZChOzD5YFwkGtfJrbAd-hPCKD0LjarDBzEYTXusWYVBePN7WJ7Nll8i4Kp3EG-kQRuhS9kZy7FlevFZzIo53JM8/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.33+%232.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKb0NBExJKWWi4lYvhm8NRy1cI-7-DZ9wEmeTeHRNzKHCSLqqO36JbZChOzD5YFwkGtfJrbAd-hPCKD0LjarDBzEYTXusWYVBePN7WJ7Nll8i4Kp3EG-kQRuhS9kZy7FlevFZzIo53JM8/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.33+%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494239915460672626" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LtfZnPaSJzSlFNyH3HwA9B_sZnkyAPPiLJVnKL0L6UzFt-hHQEkzFV01Tyq1s9kjyxbb72ZWDr4fc1ro5ZPnL6uxVmRhuRHZBw4uhpGiOb11IyyXojt6mye1FyTNcVjW5e3a9yJWk6qh/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.36+%232.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LtfZnPaSJzSlFNyH3HwA9B_sZnkyAPPiLJVnKL0L6UzFt-hHQEkzFV01Tyq1s9kjyxbb72ZWDr4fc1ro5ZPnL6uxVmRhuRHZBw4uhpGiOb11IyyXojt6mye1FyTNcVjW5e3a9yJWk6qh/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.36+%232.jpg"><br /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Earlier today, during the long and tedious process of sorting through the seemingly endless emails which accumulated over those months spent in various hospitals, I stumbled across two glorious finds. The first was a message from "Ingrid" in the editorial department of Blue Mountain Arts informing me of their continued interest in greeting card verses I submitted long ago. The second was a request, in response to a past query, for a copy of one of my manuscripts. Consuming most of my day, therefore, was this process of attempting to track down these potential successes in hopes of actually, like, publishing new works...<br /><br /><br />Under my own name, ya'll!<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LtfZnPaSJzSlFNyH3HwA9B_sZnkyAPPiLJVnKL0L6UzFt-hHQEkzFV01Tyq1s9kjyxbb72ZWDr4fc1ro5ZPnL6uxVmRhuRHZBw4uhpGiOb11IyyXojt6mye1FyTNcVjW5e3a9yJWk6qh/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.36+%232.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-LtfZnPaSJzSlFNyH3HwA9B_sZnkyAPPiLJVnKL0L6UzFt-hHQEkzFV01Tyq1s9kjyxbb72ZWDr4fc1ro5ZPnL6uxVmRhuRHZBw4uhpGiOb11IyyXojt6mye1FyTNcVjW5e3a9yJWk6qh/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.36+%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494238949047271138" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >As a result, I must say, the day has proven itself a long and exhausting one. Having lost most of my current data with my poor, overworked ibook, submitting said written work required a great deal of cutting and pasting from various sources in order to reconstruct (to the best of my ability) the complete manuscript. Still, despite the many frustrations along the way, I find myself undeniably excited.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD_QQMa2bFs7i8aLK6olX5FtDRKS3t-Pi-2aGHU95-ijDi8SCEBLlN-Xp3TLsS8NR8VJOWx2vOC3sX9PWVyCWK35pkqg996plJ57mf9qlljCZHT2QVZwvhfBnPYbCkjDKUSAZabwonXkK/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.42.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD_QQMa2bFs7i8aLK6olX5FtDRKS3t-Pi-2aGHU95-ijDi8SCEBLlN-Xp3TLsS8NR8VJOWx2vOC3sX9PWVyCWK35pkqg996plJ57mf9qlljCZHT2QVZwvhfBnPYbCkjDKUSAZabwonXkK/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.42.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD_QQMa2bFs7i8aLK6olX5FtDRKS3t-Pi-2aGHU95-ijDi8SCEBLlN-Xp3TLsS8NR8VJOWx2vOC3sX9PWVyCWK35pkqg996plJ57mf9qlljCZHT2QVZwvhfBnPYbCkjDKUSAZabwonXkK/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.42.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494238930047582146" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyD_QQMa2bFs7i8aLK6olX5FtDRKS3t-Pi-2aGHU95-ijDi8SCEBLlN-Xp3TLsS8NR8VJOWx2vOC3sX9PWVyCWK35pkqg996plJ57mf9qlljCZHT2QVZwvhfBnPYbCkjDKUSAZabwonXkK/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-15+at+11.42.jpg"><br /></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;" >Perhaps I am even beginning to feel like an actual writer again!<br /><br />(Keep writing, everybody!)<br /></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-56604366358070856742010-07-14T15:03:00.000-07:002010-07-14T19:03:46.052-07:00Workshops<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDQksQlcX1hyphenhyphenMuM6ajB3MLAo-dkCJe5pTIJeOpq646Kz3bNoWOv8b8-Fz0gSVLU57nF4fScxeyJwhslP5MjUdr4ABaAinDleAYiZ3TVYsrgt5Nva8QqqXXkIFH5YCiT0AE1rvw-kkK2zd/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.56.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtDQksQlcX1hyphenhyphenMuM6ajB3MLAo-dkCJe5pTIJeOpq646Kz3bNoWOv8b8-Fz0gSVLU57nF4fScxeyJwhslP5MjUdr4ABaAinDleAYiZ3TVYsrgt5Nva8QqqXXkIFH5YCiT0AE1rvw-kkK2zd/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.56.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493886708923505506" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfb7ThPFMQc3DTM0xGsYPwCHUsekeB94DqdgpCsjcX44Gs8eeQb1n7LvlQCyaieRr5Y85CriJhUmQw1BVWWUIAcDtbBiSmT6P513MTH-fzpuquvPXyLo4pgDNZY1gq9Dqjd-_6WyW5BUw9/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.38+%233.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfb7ThPFMQc3DTM0xGsYPwCHUsekeB94DqdgpCsjcX44Gs8eeQb1n7LvlQCyaieRr5Y85CriJhUmQw1BVWWUIAcDtbBiSmT6P513MTH-fzpuquvPXyLo4pgDNZY1gq9Dqjd-_6WyW5BUw9/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.38+%233.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493886685445200866" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Well, my friends, the time has come...<br /><br /><br /><br />I must face the signs, most undeniable, of truly dire straits...and aggressively combat this impending doom with preemptive action.<br /><br /><br /><br /> In other words, it is time to organize more workshops.<br /><br /><br />It seems the dictates of my balance sheet must, invariably, overcome the conflicts of my confus-ed soul. Whether I wish to do so or not, regardless of whether I am ready to do so or not, I have no option but to (barring some unforeseen miracle, some new and wondrous career opportunity) find work within my chosen field, all the while optimistic that the need to be a fruitful, functioning member of society will counterbalance--indeed, outweigh--any lingering apprehensions curling about the fringes of battered psyche.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mFIZ2AaPKylO6svJajsZxlqTicGpJKHVLt8W66U0dtEg_3IoDyJQZqlTw7A1tuN81B27INptXhMYCjX7_1GHpf0L_UnEhiUZab2-tL4sMeP3IOsCdx_DrjdmwU9zmGenv9WapAZ34CuJ/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.38+%232.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mFIZ2AaPKylO6svJajsZxlqTicGpJKHVLt8W66U0dtEg_3IoDyJQZqlTw7A1tuN81B27INptXhMYCjX7_1GHpf0L_UnEhiUZab2-tL4sMeP3IOsCdx_DrjdmwU9zmGenv9WapAZ34CuJ/s400/Photo+on+2010-07-14+at+15.38+%232.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493886697457577010" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">At least, that's the story I'm a-tellin' you all now!</span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />So if any of you know anyone in the Colorado Springs area with a burning desire to write more picturesque prose, to more completely grasp the elements of grammar and literary style, or will merely take pity on a frazzled mother with bills, bills, and more bills preying upon her proverbial purse...<br /><br />Tell 'em Chanctetinyea says, "Ya'll come on by now, ya hear!"<br /></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-90966843807203763492010-07-06T12:34:00.000-07:002010-08-25T18:48:47.682-07:00Back to Work<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMNoaBVrkF3quhIDA3sgPTiXuK3XmVrcpG1phB-_jUqut7Lage_naVc707fV9-nF9DS5T2O3dyviPU-pe3qBNlry050KhZW3AhJH9q9pDutU_6DGmumVbBR13GvqJ-82RqaQk-fh3Dl5f/s1600/IMG01058-20100712-1125.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMNoaBVrkF3quhIDA3sgPTiXuK3XmVrcpG1phB-_jUqut7Lage_naVc707fV9-nF9DS5T2O3dyviPU-pe3qBNlry050KhZW3AhJH9q9pDutU_6DGmumVbBR13GvqJ-82RqaQk-fh3Dl5f/s400/IMG01058-20100712-1125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493073682669462274" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">As I sit here on the deck, beneath the mild sun and gentle breezes of mid-July, I find myself gazing out onto the vast panorama of green grasses and gaunt pine trees in search of motivation. A few feel below me, K.'s studio lies nestled beneath the foliage, and to it (as well as Kathy's example) I look for inspiration.</span></span></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fiMW_8ozECqcmK-FUJ7uO7xbrxBVFKzUQ2dKCwq863utbVH4_bXQEQUVlZMWhjs8W1MGjefWPNoOAVOPd1_er4y7KYNO7Dcbzbkno3WG3vtP8BBZV-kJqn7E3-yuJDoLCmtjr03N-aAz/s1600/IMG01063-20100712-1130.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fiMW_8ozECqcmK-FUJ7uO7xbrxBVFKzUQ2dKCwq863utbVH4_bXQEQUVlZMWhjs8W1MGjefWPNoOAVOPd1_er4y7KYNO7Dcbzbkno3WG3vtP8BBZV-kJqn7E3-yuJDoLCmtjr03N-aAz/s400/IMG01063-20100712-1130.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493072990341376306" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAztWvei7wJ7Ahqm7oLlnCV-yh6H5BFhM2oWgAYobW91mXPBh26YNLXNJ_O0mylQ9WKXbsvlcGDhMBsAriJb-knBLmoA1WmPMphV2kPUCHrCJiHgFWAxBlovhLR7ej2IptoCDCd4aTalp/s1600/IMG00227-20100617-1545.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWAztWvei7wJ7Ahqm7oLlnCV-yh6H5BFhM2oWgAYobW91mXPBh26YNLXNJ_O0mylQ9WKXbsvlcGDhMBsAriJb-knBLmoA1WmPMphV2kPUCHrCJiHgFWAxBlovhLR7ej2IptoCDCd4aTalp/s400/IMG00227-20100617-1545.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493070807730302050" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"><br /><br /><br />Having at long last resolved the Matter of the Lost Laptop (<span style="font-style: italic;">i.e. </span>accepting a newer unit to replace the one which remains lost...with much my pertinent information and latest revisions on it), the time has come for me to end this hiatus from paying projects in order to get back to the business of actually paying the bills, putting food on the table and clothing on my children's backs (whether I have come to terms with my own frustrations about writing--not to mention my own capabilities as a writer--or not)!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The time has come, it seems, to resume my work facilitating workshops, teaching classes, and editing the works of others.<br /><br /><br />Time, Tide, and T-Mobile wait for no one, ya'll!</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-17143649334556468722010-07-03T23:37:00.000-07:002010-09-09T15:38:22.627-07:00Books available on Lulu.comFour of my books are available on Lulu.com! All of them are available in paperback OR file download form.<br /><br />Two Poetry Books:<br /><a href="http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/when-the-sun-shines-in-winter/12431054?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/2"><strong><span style="font-size:large;">When the Sun Shines in Winter</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></strong><a href="http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/unpainted-canvas/12431528?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/3"><strong><span style="font-size:large;">Unpainted Canvas</span></strong></a><br /><br />Two short stories:<br /><a href="http://www.lulu.com/product/file-download/exile/12439682?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/5"><strong><span style="font-size:large;">Exile!!!!</span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></strong><a href="http://www.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-stick-woman/12451069?productTrackingContext=search_results/search_shelf/center/7"><strong><span style="font-size:large;">The Stick Woman</span></strong></a><br /><br /><lj-cut text="Click here to see the covers..."><br /><img src="http://static.lulu.com/product/paperback/when-the-sun-shines-in-winter/12431054/thumbnail/320" alt="" /> <img src="http://static.lulu.com/product/paperback/unpainted-canvas/12431528/thumbnail/320" alt="" /><br /><br /><br /><img src="http://static.lulu.com/product/file-download/exile/12439682/thumbnail/320" alt="" /> <img src="http://static.lulu.com/product/paperback/the-stick-woman/12451069/thumbnail/320" alt="" /></lj-cut>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-33780041640259467552010-06-24T21:07:00.000-07:002010-06-24T22:09:31.688-07:00Artists Unite!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpM_Kr-hxG1ohFEuFHkwCMUQ-QIf_2mQhN-TmQCVDAqfKsXa_7cZBYAhmWK-sT4-q2k4U_ZvuOhpvU3L-xyqV1o-ty8J91IdpFiYCijdyo2XmGmbeHg3TkrsIPzuwJdF-6xp9zudnOfXX/s1600/IMG00261-20100620-1323.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZpM_Kr-hxG1ohFEuFHkwCMUQ-QIf_2mQhN-TmQCVDAqfKsXa_7cZBYAhmWK-sT4-q2k4U_ZvuOhpvU3L-xyqV1o-ty8J91IdpFiYCijdyo2XmGmbeHg3TkrsIPzuwJdF-6xp9zudnOfXX/s400/IMG00261-20100620-1323.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486570295260055602" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">When girls and I first moved in with K., it seemed as though our every prayer had been answered.</span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNc-71pbckHqjfOz11-DP_aEeGhN5dxo_-ePyoKpDFAxV29U_4eGiJsYYEYFHkFPuRV2p19LYzQDlCGpwT_Nco2fliq3cYDK-XR91a8K-nxD-n5EPIK5AeoX7mUAwl-kEGQOa4iKGL4V-F/s1600/IMG00231-20100620-0936.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNc-71pbckHqjfOz11-DP_aEeGhN5dxo_-ePyoKpDFAxV29U_4eGiJsYYEYFHkFPuRV2p19LYzQDlCGpwT_Nco2fliq3cYDK-XR91a8K-nxD-n5EPIK5AeoX7mUAwl-kEGQOa4iKGL4V-F/s400/IMG00231-20100620-0936.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486569583989387570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwAp4eighUqMj_TWZZ0HRpkbpvtvjCOCqDvGl_HyxV-xh-lpuiYCMynicffQrfzOA9T_yYWXkzgYU6noDurTBGnl87x-l8-Ob-1nGO5aHTjbU8dTWEQO3doqMlQvuoOTrrt3bekDWeNuI/s1600/IMG00227-20100620-0935.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwAp4eighUqMj_TWZZ0HRpkbpvtvjCOCqDvGl_HyxV-xh-lpuiYCMynicffQrfzOA9T_yYWXkzgYU6noDurTBGnl87x-l8-Ob-1nGO5aHTjbU8dTWEQO3doqMlQvuoOTrrt3bekDWeNuI/s400/IMG00227-20100620-0935.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486569265587198834" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);"> Artistic ourselves, we found a strong sense of having slipped into the proper niche from the moment we crossed the threshold. The arrangement promised to be a good fit for all, flexible enough--in a time of upheaval--to allow us to figure out just where we planned to go from here. Truly, the opportunity might have been Heaven-sent.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Little did I recognize just a week go how completely that hackneyed, </span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKyB-mGU_TGcMGYYN3xwgZGR6G_kbDkRE0g8mHYe7ImBsCBJ22sIpSKZw15oo14sfEriY13yoV8TToKulqRn1MOF8sjUILU2xvJxEgH2r5FFzNxq2i9Ulj8wzwEACjTizhZjI5sZaIfW2/s1600/IMG00219-20100620-0933.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKyB-mGU_TGcMGYYN3xwgZGR6G_kbDkRE0g8mHYe7ImBsCBJ22sIpSKZw15oo14sfEriY13yoV8TToKulqRn1MOF8sjUILU2xvJxEgH2r5FFzNxq2i9Ulj8wzwEACjTizhZjI5sZaIfW2/s400/IMG00219-20100620-0933.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486568856887031954" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">age-old term would encapsulate this rather remarkable new experience.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 0);">Living here, sharing a house with other highly creative people, editing K.'s book, and even learning a bit about the creative processes of an actual artist: herein lie the seeds of renewed fulfillment...and unexpected joy.</span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-67492602870832275982010-06-22T17:20:00.000-07:002010-07-13T09:24:52.862-07:00Good!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2AlxRl1abdrX-dMjgFh1P5ACeN2ZV3Fyf2txlFkJJSYDf5LpcluhKUiOcQBBWYz1F4KTmEM2_3RO6XOUpnE_fkkWmxjg-vcrjlbQ7-zgxxtj7ap2q5FfNY_dc8qKPS9BGzOaUD_iU4Hd/s1600/IMG00394-20100626-1708.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">There is much to be said for finding a place in which one truly belongs.</span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2AlxRl1abdrX-dMjgFh1P5ACeN2ZV3Fyf2txlFkJJSYDf5LpcluhKUiOcQBBWYz1F4KTmEM2_3RO6XOUpnE_fkkWmxjg-vcrjlbQ7-zgxxtj7ap2q5FfNY_dc8qKPS9BGzOaUD_iU4Hd/s400/IMG00394-20100626-1708.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489375396013392306" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cupnbpjpfR_S7u0LZyc0mrHzvfif_F1751Ds06abUTG9NI2nIT9BlH5w_b_mvTUJvx0y5O6s0fzcH-kRPBlEQgyskwzhdvAYl0eCShl_pYzeCgY__B0_OgwCS7q99YvpP49jjjkYCDBD/s1600/IMG00393-20100626-1704.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cupnbpjpfR_S7u0LZyc0mrHzvfif_F1751Ds06abUTG9NI2nIT9BlH5w_b_mvTUJvx0y5O6s0fzcH-kRPBlEQgyskwzhdvAYl0eCShl_pYzeCgY__B0_OgwCS7q99YvpP49jjjkYCDBD/s320/IMG00393-20100626-1704.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489374953659472866" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 320px;" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96qFvSl-owqB7w7US-sPCVNSsGXYDudMP0iRW6lCYoWaDnd4uJJFVI-2KjvR7rRfdm3yziRefz-V2iGBNkD0b0eFH3-jaX4_9p8_ti06Ya0ljs9jHvOcLBmZMfNdF8C1Cbu1moSwe0xij/s1600/IMG00392-20100626-1704.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg96qFvSl-owqB7w7US-sPCVNSsGXYDudMP0iRW6lCYoWaDnd4uJJFVI-2KjvR7rRfdm3yziRefz-V2iGBNkD0b0eFH3-jaX4_9p8_ti06Ya0ljs9jHvOcLBmZMfNdF8C1Cbu1moSwe0xij/s400/IMG00392-20100626-1704.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489374803118377682" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD1AkFYsom8Oe-P497cWAdLbQRpUShS8qX3GHaZmQJrknt5epEnp13rOVZQahdSgCX-N3bJWe3waxu4A-_AAGra_x2xiQXjOOvWUWgSchTwUfWRIF94M0wV5G51YnHtHFVTCGFsCv8uvtY/s1600/IMG00392-20100626-1704.jpg"><br /></a><br /><br /></span> Here, in the Black Forest--as I work on the final edit for K. Dopita's <i>Even If I Die, </i>paying for my room and board "in trade" until I have fully regained my strength--life is good.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i>Life is very, very, very good.</i></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAMrDwE_YmPFZK4eBnB0M_-_09NU4W9DS58IRqc4ydgKXYxA0zoCSKFP1ter2NOitf6idKeusyfaSS3eKzpSBv621fwoSB3PSaJlUD3dM5FWXNEEDKfBS61KmjlPQDoq8XKhVnh5WQSKq/s1600/IMG00698-20100711-1714.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmAMrDwE_YmPFZK4eBnB0M_-_09NU4W9DS58IRqc4ydgKXYxA0zoCSKFP1ter2NOitf6idKeusyfaSS3eKzpSBv621fwoSB3PSaJlUD3dM5FWXNEEDKfBS61KmjlPQDoq8XKhVnh5WQSKq/s400/IMG00698-20100711-1714.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493427400987672866" border="0" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div></span></i></span></span></div>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-25721391152798495362010-06-22T13:14:00.001-07:002010-06-22T16:42:54.374-07:00Renaissance<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br />Sometimes, I wonder....</span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAMGQuIzu599gF1BuwQ15jfIw0xEeKkLD0ptdvyvkjTJG4bO3-ac0oF-dfrFcjplHsInUOY4loI2VcnArYAQkxh4mjcSwdvHhZcdLCz0WJJAG7bAAP4NlCSVwgHuf_LtF67JJhFSW-WYD/s1600/IMG00334-20100620-1846.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAMGQuIzu599gF1BuwQ15jfIw0xEeKkLD0ptdvyvkjTJG4bO3-ac0oF-dfrFcjplHsInUOY4loI2VcnArYAQkxh4mjcSwdvHhZcdLCz0WJJAG7bAAP4NlCSVwgHuf_LtF67JJhFSW-WYD/s400/IMG00334-20100620-1846.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485698507011441186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What does it mean, this term "inspiration?"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Once upon a time, there was no need to even ask such a thing. "Inspiration" (or so I thought) was some naturally occurring phenomenon which impacted upon every life, saturating anyone, any thing curious enough, impulsive enough to stand ready to absorb the magnificence of life. Like air, like light it pulsed and flashed all around me, and I had only to keep still long enough for it to rush in, to engulf me.<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzXWPlpVeCA6yIKqT1SRbaVddQ1M7De7AYp0rKf5WyVKSvDrY5BQNJzoMvq9_QsSzlsvIxN5IHXTlubqlo5T3zBPssU86fCkzMtlJbT_oOhk8bTaJifhmvJpA-8aBvrXQVz7LWszp12cu/s1600/IMG00304-20100620-1340.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzXWPlpVeCA6yIKqT1SRbaVddQ1M7De7AYp0rKf5WyVKSvDrY5BQNJzoMvq9_QsSzlsvIxN5IHXTlubqlo5T3zBPssU86fCkzMtlJbT_oOhk8bTaJifhmvJpA-8aBvrXQVz7LWszp12cu/s400/IMG00304-20100620-1340.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485697606591733554" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12ZIiPr2n3KRY-IJwNMHfjU74zZQYQkCuK9DzyvplefuB-DpWZonm83dN-BZKbaFNqYD6umHvF8j1PF8zvEOLkXVnE0QNUDQkBPa47RWLXgu1EIjN5tXdth5GtqoQaaeSw_FZTx8a1gP3/s1600/IMG00257-20100620-1310.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12ZIiPr2n3KRY-IJwNMHfjU74zZQYQkCuK9DzyvplefuB-DpWZonm83dN-BZKbaFNqYD6umHvF8j1PF8zvEOLkXVnE0QNUDQkBPa47RWLXgu1EIjN5tXdth5GtqoQaaeSw_FZTx8a1gP3/s400/IMG00257-20100620-1310.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485697050177990130" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">There was no need to define it: it was just <span style="font-weight: bold;">there</span>.<br /><br /><br />Somehow, something inside of me remained perpetually susceptible to its mesmerizing charm.<br /><br /><br />A glimpse of color, the faint vibration of some unfamiliar sound: these were enough to evoke a roar of activity, shaking the peaceful dormancy of the mind and urging me, teasing me, tempting me to uncover more, more, and more.<br /><br />Life was a tale without end, unfolding before me with the flip of each new page, never failing to provide some new adventure, present some gripping fresh mystery, draw me into some completely unforeseen conflict or situation which could not possibly be ignored but, instead, absolutely had to be acknowledged.<br /><br /><br /><br />I thought I could never be anything less than utterly engrossed in it all.<br /><br />Until recently.<br /><br />Before, there was no concept of spending even a moment--much less hours, weeks, months--in any state of apathy.<br /><br /><br />Now I have no concept of any other state.<br /><br /><br />The whole thing, this change in my attitude of the world and myself in it, has proven quite devastating at times.<br /><br />I have no idea what to make of it....<br /><br />Some integral portion of my identity has been lost: misplaced, perhaps...but maybe, I fear, wholly irretrievable.<br /><br />Gone.<br /><br />Forever. <br /><br /></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGKHY2DEMeflIiHoIsK7apvtIGpXgLlPJIp3cl8eYcxAI3WW67MFJZqcCDjPUfjHJ1nZpdUUtQBalmeLxGhMAUi0M9uMb33dm6-EQ1LFJawjpEDIPXmPCIdSPNXv3AfgsKjrQL7xDwlBF/s1600/IMG00223-20100620-0934.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGKHY2DEMeflIiHoIsK7apvtIGpXgLlPJIp3cl8eYcxAI3WW67MFJZqcCDjPUfjHJ1nZpdUUtQBalmeLxGhMAUi0M9uMb33dm6-EQ1LFJawjpEDIPXmPCIdSPNXv3AfgsKjrQL7xDwlBF/s400/IMG00223-20100620-0934.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485696570642368370" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Thus, the rather terrifying question for me, lately, has been, <span style="font-style: italic;">where do I go from here?<br /><br /></span>I keep running here and there, hoping for something that will grab my attention, pique my curiosity, or even cause me to stop--just for a heartbeat--and think. Additionally, I look around me, wondering how I came to be in this foreign environment, unable to understand--or even develop some interest <span style="font-style: italic;">in </span>understanding--when and through what series of odd twists and turns I have come to be here.<br /><br /><br />Can inspiration be created?<br /><br />If lost, can it ever again be found?<br /><br />How, exactly, does one tap into the inmost layer of her being in order to identify the feelings, thoughts, and reactions which imbue the world around her with depth, significance, with <span style="font-style: italic;">meaning </span>when life itself seems to no longer have purpose or merit outside the primal instinct for basic survival.</span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">How often I have asked myself that question--especially in this last, long month, when everything that could go wrong <span style="font-weight: bold;">did</span> go wrong, and no activity seemed worth the effort of thought I would have to expend in order to take part in it.<br /><br />Even writing.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Especially </span></span>writing.<br /><br />Time and time again, I found myself defining the hunger to write, the desire to create as a need to tangibly relay all that is inside of the deepest self into those words, images, and impressions which, somehow, resonate powerfully within others. </span></span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZbix-dfbFFMCEIx-U0CJAuLGCumMP_uwKQioF9U_rldJjzyc3dLJEcJ27_OnXmcyhYqaaPFJ7qFUk7D_uwzYQPRgRPngU_W9t-Oe2zc8eOvPl7OKdvuXRJmLgYnBBv0oXd1ME5UgZsDj/s1600/IMG00244-20100620-0942.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYZbix-dfbFFMCEIx-U0CJAuLGCumMP_uwKQioF9U_rldJjzyc3dLJEcJ27_OnXmcyhYqaaPFJ7qFUk7D_uwzYQPRgRPngU_W9t-Oe2zc8eOvPl7OKdvuXRJmLgYnBBv0oXd1ME5UgZsDj/s400/IMG00244-20100620-0942.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485695820540404962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">When, as a child, I began creating fascinating new worlds within that vast, unexplored universe of my budding imagination, it all seemed so very effortless. Human beings naturally long to explore, to learn, and writing became my vehicle for those forays into the wonderfully terrifying unknown, just as an astronaut would aim for the moon in a rocket. There was never a concept of any other pastime, no question as to whether building my image of the world through letters, syllables, and word structures could be anything less than my one true purpose in life.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Now, I find myself wondering how and why that all changed. </span></span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpz4aRZnU579LMiKXe1QBG4INx4K3JMhpEKhcM0mEslTHU_2Vgj7ehYxaC5PDCrCjp1CtZUtinidXPUnAdzq0onW0hjQiU7hr5-ZmxdUQhjTuVo6bUkeVBaXuqLYX0VGOsayf7esJbFzj/s1600/IMG00221-20100620-0934.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpz4aRZnU579LMiKXe1QBG4INx4K3JMhpEKhcM0mEslTHU_2Vgj7ehYxaC5PDCrCjp1CtZUtinidXPUnAdzq0onW0hjQiU7hr5-ZmxdUQhjTuVo6bUkeVBaXuqLYX0VGOsayf7esJbFzj/s400/IMG00221-20100620-0934.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485695448853312658" border="0" /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"></span></span></span></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> Perhaps we each reach a point in life when the universe within begins to feel incredibly small.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2UHSqUWWBd-Bx2kQgfVV4eXcCqxq6cIpl5VqVSSaPRUoft8Wrj8YZuSnY1m_QqHFiUdow2FrJxSMck_x8NKL9HEN_T6IvuOWbm_QHAPi3b5Jo0Bxu5EQkame1csEox8ZWZluBFrEgyKU/s1600/IMG00207-20100620-0929.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2UHSqUWWBd-Bx2kQgfVV4eXcCqxq6cIpl5VqVSSaPRUoft8Wrj8YZuSnY1m_QqHFiUdow2FrJxSMck_x8NKL9HEN_T6IvuOWbm_QHAPi3b5Jo0Bxu5EQkame1csEox8ZWZluBFrEgyKU/s400/IMG00207-20100620-0929.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485694966827854418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WYYZIW34imDPQmnTQWJ2LSJVUUkHBtet3Dgn3qwopGZouvD75oOrB4Cu653ZTKkSIegzpmwBzUKYiFxTaBg6GFZBhCDEtQzC-n_86rJK-hPJq5CqHHOyQSqrNp-501jFKXAbm5vPDC-K/s1600/IMG00216-20100620-0933.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WYYZIW34imDPQmnTQWJ2LSJVUUkHBtet3Dgn3qwopGZouvD75oOrB4Cu653ZTKkSIegzpmwBzUKYiFxTaBg6GFZBhCDEtQzC-n_86rJK-hPJq5CqHHOyQSqrNp-501jFKXAbm5vPDC-K/s400/IMG00216-20100620-0933.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485694508307042898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Although life itself is ever changing, the day-to-day process of merely living it becomes almost routine. It becomes easy to look without seeing, listen without hearing, devour without tasting. Beauty exists, and to view it is pleasant; yet there really is no time, no inclination, no need to actually <span style="font-style: italic;">experience</span> it any longer.</span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">But why?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />What happens in the course of a lifetime that changes a person to such an extent that her priorities so drastically change? At what world does the surrounding world lose its allure? When do those sweet mysteries of being lose their magic?</span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Of late, I have founding myself drowning in confusion, carried along this sea of my own self-doubt--characterized by a constant flow of inwardly coursing pondering, reflection, and self-recrimination--on this crippling undercurrent of inexplicable doubt and dread. Have I been sucked into another realm? A separate identity? How can one simply "fall out of" love with the one companion who has remained by her side, been her lifelong obsession? And how can anyone that fickle in the first place?<br /><br />I once loved to write.<br /><br />No, the very thought of writing sucks the very air from my lungs.<br /><br />I am left weak, shaken, and completely disoriented.<br /><br /></span></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-8311805548983025322010-06-19T13:18:00.000-07:002010-06-19T13:34:26.462-07:00Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety-Jig<span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Finally!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGDwaCOtRCmJiMR3oYQ2Ry6Z-gP_GLDlvMZwT_FsUQ8tvPfbF6oisqipdCb5LZMpkxt3bemRZdrtfZn2T2rUbxnaw_b7gl7mzJpl2Lh1gn6xVuChgh-AiiYrST4XYvGttgz1Izy9c0EewH/s1600/IMG00087-20100615-1157.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGDwaCOtRCmJiMR3oYQ2Ry6Z-gP_GLDlvMZwT_FsUQ8tvPfbF6oisqipdCb5LZMpkxt3bemRZdrtfZn2T2rUbxnaw_b7gl7mzJpl2Lh1gn6xVuChgh-AiiYrST4XYvGttgz1Izy9c0EewH/s400/IMG00087-20100615-1157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483075726376114738" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span><span>The girls and I are settling in! </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KoqAy_4QX7zzqkBKs2XkkArxnAccNB2G2pgb0GfSsXPOEvwTEr9SBDfx-1-Xn8bAUjpSMoCdpDnyz12XBhc1aMSKX_lnj_dF10_ymC0jWj9flbCIuIyGpUx4KnBZxtveRfVWGPBrY6gh/s1600/IMG00086-20100615-1157.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KoqAy_4QX7zzqkBKs2XkkArxnAccNB2G2pgb0GfSsXPOEvwTEr9SBDfx-1-Xn8bAUjpSMoCdpDnyz12XBhc1aMSKX_lnj_dF10_ymC0jWj9flbCIuIyGpUx4KnBZxtveRfVWGPBrY6gh/s400/IMG00086-20100615-1157.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483075921788177058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><span><span>As can be seen from the pictures, New Hampshire was quite lovely. Despite the biting unseasonable cold, the area itself was pleasant enough. Unfortunately, however, it was not (nor could it ever be) home.<br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UHSxqVvif0OOpZl5paL-7cddXWRbaxcxPSCSJYfByNSdmg79oTfIbTqPufCOKiNQMpCgUUX9dh6XyNUSY_qONFvBczOv_mc8aqd1tkavDKzqkkLcI8R9EBl4Wbi7NwPKS-jHC-A2wyqa/s1600/IMG01015-20100615-1042.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UHSxqVvif0OOpZl5paL-7cddXWRbaxcxPSCSJYfByNSdmg79oTfIbTqPufCOKiNQMpCgUUX9dh6XyNUSY_qONFvBczOv_mc8aqd1tkavDKzqkkLcI8R9EBl4Wbi7NwPKS-jHC-A2wyqa/s400/IMG01015-20100615-1042.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483115988533284626" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span><span><br />So, here we are, temporarily ensconced in lush Colorado scenery, eager to begin our lives anew. I have just been informed that although the laptop on which my written works from the past six months were kept is still LOST, a replacement will be available Monday. The prospect of writing again leaves me somewhat nervous. My mind screams at me that my former passion and creativity were lost with it. Well, that, I suppose remains to be seen. In the meantime...</span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTnOPvF1rBamx4IPvkt2QI9AG9zFLxIXb5l9uet-2DZKdPOPyfuu3PB3olYmXRXrPBea-6mR-F7Kvg9zoV3Rp1IPx81Py-MvyGcLtspgi5vw24J0bQUESDFQhs30LclpRSKSAtmCGVtPt/s1600/IMG01016-20100615-1045.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTnOPvF1rBamx4IPvkt2QI9AG9zFLxIXb5l9uet-2DZKdPOPyfuu3PB3olYmXRXrPBea-6mR-F7Kvg9zoV3Rp1IPx81Py-MvyGcLtspgi5vw24J0bQUESDFQhs30LclpRSKSAtmCGVtPt/s400/IMG01016-20100615-1045.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483116177155123218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"><span><span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I feel more hopeful, more optimistic than I have in a very, very,</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"> very </span></span><span><span>long time!<br /><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-52540724750192468032010-06-18T18:28:00.001-07:002010-06-19T13:01:44.660-07:00Homecoming<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIKQjtXhNTDC24Ke6dUEFNYomjywjAi_HGtbNyu8MFUD8KvyWJdVdzqy3LVj1FKsijrzJswOu9_2w9UfG4nRVpVvxBjzpCl8misKqpp2d55Qz6MiSxacZLTamS6HyqEoUtSxOTrjOvDak/s1600/Airport+Shadow.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-OjQ9USdBtbRUXy20G51dN0sftHpnftCCEXeH3JDBd877UIB8Djo1FA6_NoXklUO7mbdq8F7I2sCpYU0Ut6-RTg5lod_QNTQor47LfcuhsnndlMvWpqnL4TuP0B3J12PX51BciuJjvO7/s1600/Geometric.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6-OjQ9USdBtbRUXy20G51dN0sftHpnftCCEXeH3JDBd877UIB8Djo1FA6_NoXklUO7mbdq8F7I2sCpYU0Ut6-RTg5lod_QNTQor47LfcuhsnndlMvWpqnL4TuP0B3J12PX51BciuJjvO7/s400/Geometric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484291329693466962" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRODPFHGn4Ui4VA2QHtfj0ehES6T_aYATaNsOlcSXFwRu4u99uCGW7Mkb1VMqiQfa1KOuyLHuc2DqJDQTeLMYvNeT4ejuF7y4c4wrrmmuc7b1WpEraPbuKoc2HUbhXj41ZKCKqxHr7rGRD/s1600/IMG00162-20100618-1648.jpg"><br /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">The return to </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1276909438_0">Colorado Springs</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> has reminded me of the true kindness inherent in (most) human beings. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Since the girls and I arrived at the airport, nothing has gone smoothly. Why, then, are we in such good spirits? Because nearly everyone we have encountered--from </span><span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1276909438_1">airport security personnel</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> to overworked housekeeping staff, restaurant owners, and vendors have gone out of their way to offer support, kindness, and encouragement simply because they noticed three "women" stranded in the lobby with three-hundred enormous bags!</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIKQjtXhNTDC24Ke6dUEFNYomjywjAi_HGtbNyu8MFUD8KvyWJdVdzqy3LVj1FKsijrzJswOu9_2w9UfG4nRVpVvxBjzpCl8misKqpp2d55Qz6MiSxacZLTamS6HyqEoUtSxOTrjOvDak/s1600/Airport+Shadow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIKQjtXhNTDC24Ke6dUEFNYomjywjAi_HGtbNyu8MFUD8KvyWJdVdzqy3LVj1FKsijrzJswOu9_2w9UfG4nRVpVvxBjzpCl8misKqpp2d55Qz6MiSxacZLTamS6HyqEoUtSxOTrjOvDak/s400/Airport+Shadow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484295367318413730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Today, I found myself more than a little disheartened by our situation. Here I am, the mother of these phenomenal children, the product of a background that was in many ways "privileged yet unable to provide basic stability for myself or, more importantly, my family. Because I am neither naturally negative or prone to despair, moments of gloom or melancholia are immediately apparent to my children; and, when those sweet little voiced cry out, "Mommy, don't be sad!" the sound is enough to shatter the stoniest of hearts.</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_uodhqixlYKbuXp-OF0ksFcSKl6pvz6ls2XXdiEe1r6Sl9zfD-iMkbMNi1B5uAswGJo0qqwJ8CFM346lj_ZAkjpSRS7yXPhJfg8PwlSGW8lCFfHAsRZVO_5pPKgOX9SjJqYG9meTc5FU/s1600/Duie+in+Profile.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_uodhqixlYKbuXp-OF0ksFcSKl6pvz6ls2XXdiEe1r6Sl9zfD-iMkbMNi1B5uAswGJo0qqwJ8CFM346lj_ZAkjpSRS7yXPhJfg8PwlSGW8lCFfHAsRZVO_5pPKgOX9SjJqYG9meTc5FU/s400/Duie+in+Profile.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484291339481017682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Today, I was feeling worn out, worn down, and a bit overwhelmed. At the very moment I was feeling most discouraged, yet another perfect stranger walked up, asked if we were stranded, introduced himself as the cook at the Gordon Biersch restaurant, then all but insisted that we allow him to bring us drinks, "because it's hot today!"</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">We are sitting beneath the air conditioning.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Nevertheless, when he--Rory--returned with our sodas (in the refillable cups from a sister restaurant) he insisted that we come and find him if we became thirsty or hungry. Of course, we did not want to take advantage of his generosity. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Less than an hour later, Rory returned with "something for you to eat," seeming somewhat embarrassed by our thanks. For the food? Most certainly. But mainly for the simple, human compassion which--when offered freely and of genuine concern for others--often provides for the recipient far more than creature comforts...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Hope.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Faith: in oneself as well as others.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">That sense of not being alone in the world, or lost in those dark places to be found in the shadows of one's hardship, misfortune, or despair...!</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">So many pretend to believe selflessness by its very definition exists as no more than a mask, any outward acts of it carried out not altruistically but in a very self-serving need to the "good deed doer"'s hidden sanctimonious nature and only for the most selfish of motives. My time here, however, has disproved such a theory as no more than the insipid justification of that speaker's lack of basic human decency. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">The true majesty of the </span><span style="background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 0%; cursor: pointer; -moz-background-clip: border; -moz-background-origin: padding; -moz-background-inline-policy: continuous; color: rgb(204, 51, 204);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1276909438_2">human condition</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"> does live within the hearts and spirits of modern men and women. And, although it is easy to forget or doubt this fact, gentle acts of empathy like those my daughters and I have encountered (kind words, kind deeds, </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);" class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1276909438_3">kind hearts</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">) remind us just how remarkable we humans are at our best...and how easy it is, effortless it can be to help each other along this collection of meandering, unpredictable peregrinations we call Life.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">Thanks, Rory.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);">(Did I mention that even as I was typing my closing thanks, yet another security guard just came over to ask if we needed cots or could think of anything we might need that the airport could provide to make us more comfortable...after congratulating my daughter with a "hi-five" for her recent graduation from Exeter?)<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_uodhqixlYKbuXp-OF0ksFcSKl6pvz6ls2XXdiEe1r6Sl9zfD-iMkbMNi1B5uAswGJo0qqwJ8CFM346lj_ZAkjpSRS7yXPhJfg8PwlSGW8lCFfHAsRZVO_5pPKgOX9SjJqYG9meTc5FU/s1600/Duie+in+Profile.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRODPFHGn4Ui4VA2QHtfj0ehES6T_aYATaNsOlcSXFwRu4u99uCGW7Mkb1VMqiQfa1KOuyLHuc2DqJDQTeLMYvNeT4ejuF7y4c4wrrmmuc7b1WpEraPbuKoc2HUbhXj41ZKCKqxHr7rGRD/s1600/IMG00162-20100618-1648.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRODPFHGn4Ui4VA2QHtfj0ehES6T_aYATaNsOlcSXFwRu4u99uCGW7Mkb1VMqiQfa1KOuyLHuc2DqJDQTeLMYvNeT4ejuF7y4c4wrrmmuc7b1WpEraPbuKoc2HUbhXj41ZKCKqxHr7rGRD/s400/IMG00162-20100618-1648.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484291323220722546" border="0" /></a>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-41475621254026094142010-06-17T19:37:00.000-07:002010-06-17T19:37:00.362-07:00...People! ?!?!? (You Say This Entry Makes No Sense? Neither Do They!)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7BVMxE9QoldRqwBy4j-80Z6tJxPobjQ_i4-jXB3QxcjusWqoAXYzbxi_F_Cv_eVaYZGMLnH3Q7cSzumkfRdgBt7iPkZ4c8oUSXHo2n7C6-J9NsoRphWFJ0JPklh1eedyCrWiAGGD4k-e/s1600/IMG00041-20100613-1344.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK7BVMxE9QoldRqwBy4j-80Z6tJxPobjQ_i4-jXB3QxcjusWqoAXYzbxi_F_Cv_eVaYZGMLnH3Q7cSzumkfRdgBt7iPkZ4c8oUSXHo2n7C6-J9NsoRphWFJ0JPklh1eedyCrWiAGGD4k-e/s400/IMG00041-20100613-1344.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482335264591269858" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >I knew there was a reason why I make a point not to read other people's blogs.<br /><br />Every once in a while, I find myself sitting at a computer determined to impart great wisdom, to share great thoughts, only to--instead--end up on some meaningless tirade about an event or peeve which means nothing to anyone in this world but me!<br /><br />This issue is one of little significance. In fact, had I not already begun pondering the topic of People (an</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >d why I oftentimes I think we exist for no other purpose but comedy relief for the Cosmic Unknown), the situation would not have made it to print in the first place. Yet, here I sit, forcing myself to fulfill my thousand-word-per-day quota, rambling on about something which, ordinarily, I might have deemed too foolish to waste ink upon.<br /><br />A very long time ago, I made the mistake of logging on to the site of one of my dozen-or-more actor friends. Now, those with whom I attended school know my position on the entertainment industry; thus there is no need for me launch into that particular rant today. Still, it has never failed to amaze me how followers of a particular "personality" conveniently forget that the individual is simply a human being doing that which he or she loves--be it dancing, acting, singing, directing, shooting hoops, or running touchdowns--and not some superhuman marvel constructed of silver and gold and mystical, magical fairy dust, the combination of which render him (or her) flawlessly perfect in every way.<br /><br />Months before making this particular blunder, I made the <span style="font-style: italic;">catastrophic</span> mistake of first directing friends (and a few prized contacts, unfortunately) to </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >the blog of a former friend whose writing projects had truly impressed me. Yes, it was an ill-advised thing to do; however, in my own defense, I</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >--at that time--sincerely thinking</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" > myself in a race against the imaginary clock described to me by a slew of infallible medical professionals, all of whom assured me that I was soon to kick the proverbial bucket! Convinced I had but mere hours left on this Earth, it must be understood, rendered such considerations as prudence, common sense, and inescapable regret insignificant. All I could think of was making that last-ditched effort to give what help I could while I could.<br /><br />Of course, the whole thing backfired.<br /><br />Quite deservedly was I read the Riot Act when those very friends and colleagues visited the site (at my insistence) only to be attacked by rabid fans</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipadngauv13X6VdWk-tIouXpDF40puPKC-9rwda5kXhvKWJrSV83Dbgrn0_tqkNfQs3NwlsDrdowqQdReRsQSHnXkBnB0wJ1Y6FdbeC1nxbPU-D6JU4QSS1nht-p2RKMgGPOUCOfe2tA_i/s1600/IMG00033-20100613-1342.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipadngauv13X6VdWk-tIouXpDF40puPKC-9rwda5kXhvKWJrSV83Dbgrn0_tqkNfQs3NwlsDrdowqQdReRsQSHnXkBnB0wJ1Y6FdbeC1nxbPU-D6JU4QSS1nht-p2RKMgGPOUCOfe2tA_i/s320/IMG00033-20100613-1342.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482335583327000530" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >, incensed by any hint that their idol--a man I had once loved then hated, respected then disdained, known then recognized to be an absolute stranger in every way that counted (in short, a wonderfully flawed human being far more interesting for his very real, distinctly imperfect personality than the images of insultingly inaccurate perfection constructed of him by strangers)--might not walk water. Frankly, those who ripped me up one side and down the other should have saturated the wounds with 91-percent isopropyl alcohol for good measure: it was such a stupid thing for me to have done! Quite literally, I cast those poor, loyal souls into a grotesque Comedy of Errors, complete with the requisite distorted masks, trick mirrors, and upside rooms; ergo, they were more than justified in coming after me with pain-inflicting, limb-cleaving weapons. Naturally, what amends I attempted to make only made them (the "masses and the multitudes," as a delightfully caustic Adonis of a boyfriend from a decade ago often referred to those lesser beings otherwise known as "mere mortals") all more furious (and, as a result, more vicious)...all of which led me to this examination of the distinct peculiarities of People in general.<br /><br />Why is it that we as People so often find impossible illusions safer, easier, to embrace than the more attractive realities? As People, we tend to create alternative realities in which to hide, even when that which we most desire is right there, easily within reach. It is utterly, astoundingly stupefying. There they are--a core following of less than ten women--in the unique position of actually idolizing the kind of person who really does strive to be "gracious" (in his own words) to his fans, who would willingly enter into any conversation that piqued his interest or afforded him the opportunity to share his views...and they waste it bickering amongst themselves and bullying any and every one who comes onto the poor man's blog without first paying homage to the greatness that is his celebrity.<br /><br />I remember being a little girl and wanting nothing more than the chance to make friends with "Luis" from <em>Sesame Street. </em>Or Captain Kangaroo. I wanted to talk to them about normal things, such as kindergarten and learning to tie my shoe, cloud pictures and the possibility of minuscule people living in teeny-tiny houses amid the blades of grass in my back yard. Certainly, such conversations could never actually take place; and on some level--even as young as I was--I understood this.<br /><br />Even so, had such a thing been even remotely possible...!<br /><br />Today, nevertheless, despite every instinct tingling within me, I gave in to the inexplicable, totally ridiculous impulse to see if my attempt to make right my mistake--an apology to not only the man (let us call him "Old Green Eyes") himself but the rather incensed fans who all but tarred-and-feathered the poor souls who visited the site (not to mention any "poor souls" brave enough to have held their ground in the ensuing fray)--had made any difference at all.<br /><br />Imagine my surprise (and disbelief) that even the apology itself was taken as an insult against the graven image of the Great Being, Himself. Speculation abounded. Accusations flew. Nastiness beyond anything I ever could have imagined spread like some noxious form of flesh-devouring mold. No one was safe, especially those attempting to hide behind the insubstantial barrier of reason! These women were out for blood--lying in wait to shred to pieces any one or anything which stood between them and their beloved transmogrification of the man they claimed to adore. And, after I accepted the fact that the Green-Eyed One would probably kill me himself (with his bare hands) if I ever happened to cross his path, (not a scenario likely to come to pass in this lifetime or a myriad of others, thankfully) I could not help but marvel at the irony of it all. Here they all were--gifted with the very real, very opportunity to get to know the man--wasting their time snipping and sniping with each other instead of focusing on the fact that he was right there, within reach, actually offering them each a bit of insight into who he is and how he thinks!<br /><br />Amazing.<br /><br />Truthfully, I have no further desire to see how (or if) the whole senseless mess resolves itself. Part of me would like to think that eventually, Old Green Eyes will find himself frustrated enough to let loose that cutting wit and pithy sarcasm I grew to appreciate (with great relish, I might add.) Some people are magnificent in a temper, and--despite any lingering ill-will between us--I must admit that he was most certainly one of them. It is</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" >, therefore, </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 204);"><span style="font-size:large;"><span style="font-size:130%;">oddly comforting and more than a little satisfying to envision him letting down those carefully-constructed barriers of his long enough to allow the rest of the world to see the man, the person occasionally revealed to me during those long-ago moments of unadorned spontaneity which now, after my anger has abated (though I would not for a truck filled with cash money admit that to him) for the most part, I recall with fond amusement and an affectionate (incredulous) shake of the head. Of course, such a reaction is not likely--more's the pity. Although I do not doubt he could more than stand to "let off" the steam, more than likely, he will do nothing more than step back until the smoke has cleared, then go on as if the display of fireworks had never taken place.<br /><br />Regardless, I cannot help but wonder why, why, <em><strong>why </strong></em>so many People settle for iron pyrite...when pure gold lies easily within reach.<br /><br />(Perhaps within this question itself lies one of the reasons I find the study of human nature so inexhaustibly fascinating.)</span><br /></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-54853458565096864862010-06-16T07:26:00.000-07:002010-06-19T13:17:37.561-07:00Headed Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeh0G7gYZSMJJeVc-oQM50MRDlmkczoZ6EwcrVH87VTlpjDo3e-NVm0pGTsGSv0mL3cbK1h4yZpJBQuQxXpkpCmrqsITdL21Ixv3CLZX9CCz_zGvAzyR9OHx8CgCjyjdu0itTdNqatW1M/s1600/IMG00083-20100615-1156.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeh0G7gYZSMJJeVc-oQM50MRDlmkczoZ6EwcrVH87VTlpjDo3e-NVm0pGTsGSv0mL3cbK1h4yZpJBQuQxXpkpCmrqsITdL21Ixv3CLZX9CCz_zGvAzyR9OHx8CgCjyjdu0itTdNqatW1M/s400/IMG00083-20100615-1156.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483076240425095698" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">One cannot help but question her own decisions--especially those which will result in the major upheaval of another.<br /><br /><br /><br />Have I any right to drag two girls all the way across the country to a "home" that is, in many ways, completely unsettled?<br /><br /><br /><br />Would it be better just to let things be?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Sometimes, I think, one has to simply take a breath, pinch her nostrils, and jump.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4stupbhVXB3mK2aGJosbErhQJhv9x9mbRGPoWi0a6Ypn186Qi_-e9r3pnqznGxnsyXDV55eb8d34BclABMHdzt5FroGfTHc_ZaqXS9SYMq7u5yA1QlpRdFKtJQoh8jDXu6SLfrv5H16j/s1600/IMG00076-20100615-1154.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4stupbhVXB3mK2aGJosbErhQJhv9x9mbRGPoWi0a6Ypn186Qi_-e9r3pnqznGxnsyXDV55eb8d34BclABMHdzt5FroGfTHc_ZaqXS9SYMq7u5yA1QlpRdFKtJQoh8jDXu6SLfrv5H16j/s400/IMG00076-20100615-1154.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483076959826662642" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">...Yet, does she have the right to ask others to take that potentially catastrophic leap of faith alongside her...?<br /><br /><br />Here's hoping I don't lead us all careening to our deaths!<br /><br /><br />Keep writing ya'll.<br /><br />Hopefully, one day soon I will join you by doing the same.</span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-51736808383060914732010-06-14T06:01:00.000-07:002010-06-19T13:10:00.155-07:00Finding Our Way Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdwzJyR7bAD3ML5Dngi-x6Q6pnnjcSOUgpa56xm70Hta6EY-NzlVDhcwnc6TsxazgQ4BHrEWdA0MrIXgoQrS7g1o_VHnhyphenhyphen_C-UhtewvtJfnn0bson9SocGuVYBx24yB2cNkfukDtikLs0/s1600/Boathouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdwzJyR7bAD3ML5Dngi-x6Q6pnnjcSOUgpa56xm70Hta6EY-NzlVDhcwnc6TsxazgQ4BHrEWdA0MrIXgoQrS7g1o_VHnhyphenhyphen_C-UhtewvtJfnn0bson9SocGuVYBx24yB2cNkfukDtikLs0/s400/Boathouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482447903480905986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">The process of rebuilding a new life with (and for) my daughters is proving far more stressful, far more humbling that one--than <em>I </em>before imagined.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"> </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Though our host and hostess are more than gracious, I am still not exactly comfortable taking up space in someone else's home. Call it a character flaw or some lack of faith in human nature, In my mind, though, most offers of help, support, friendship, or the like are offered with the subconscious belief that the one to whom the invitation is extended will gracefully, gratefully decline! We all want to be generous. We all want to be kind. The reality, however, is that more often than not--especially these days, in this economic climate--most cannot manage to live up to those lofty principles or ideals.<br /><br />Besides, did I mention my extreme aversion to accepting anything from anyone under any circumstances...?<br /><br />I must admit, part of me is extremely proud of this fact, as my independent nature dictates that I must not ever allow myself to grow accustomed to or even comfortable with reliance upon others. In dire circumstances I would place necessity above "principle," specifically in the best interests of my children. I have and I will. None of this, however, changes my complete and utter revulsion at the thought of leaning upon another for anything, any time, any where, under any circumstance.<br /><br /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Cynicism: how wholly unimaginative...!</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">The truth of the matter is, despite past criticism of my "self-sufficiency" as the ultimate manifestation of personal control, when it comes down to the barest basics, I just do not trust others enough to put my life, my comfort, my future, or the welfare of my children in their hands. Abandonment issues: such powerful deterrents against the formation of personal attachments. For some of us, the concept of another or group of others who will "always" be there is as unlikely, as inconceivable as a polar bear eating an ice-cream cone on some pink-and-purple sanded beach in Bermuda! Call it fear, call it paranoia, call it plain old insanity, but I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder to catch someone looking over my shoulder.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s1600/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" _fcksavedurl="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s1600/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" onblur_fckprotectedatt="%20onblur%3D%22try%20%7Bparent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully()%3B%7D%20catch(e)%20%7B%7D%22"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482449802259122146" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s400/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" _fcksavedurl="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s400/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Suffice it to say, I don't trust, I absolutely do not trust anyone.<br /><br />Not as far as I can throw that "one" while he or she is sitting in a fully loaded car.<br /><br />This is probably unfair, I know. Most people, like the Thompsons--with whom we are staying--are kind and genuine, generous in nature and honest in their intentions. Experience, nevertheless, is a harsh teacher, and I have seen far too much of the worst in human nature recently to put much stock in the best of it. It is easier, in my mind, to do without a thing than to ask for it, thereby leaving oneself open to disappointment and disillusionment.</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Admittedly, this is all probably quite ridiculous. The perception that others have little confidence in my abilities, see my current situation as some undeniable proof of my failures as a mother, as a person, as a human being might very well be ludicrous. After all, never once has anyone said anything to this effect directly to me. On the contrary, any and every thing I have heard has been somewhat supportive--even from individuals who are practically salivating over the prospect of the uppity know-it-all falling flat on her face! </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRLqXXh3Y_5YyzZzDH1t65DLurxP7PLZDiBM412ukXqdIgrLRgOoUkLGOGyUpxE4pGSb0Ne4rUDp2bdjdfc9SOp-U_WoqWupY25BqQjr3wfVcU4cw1T7dGCV_o6lYtC2l3I5_4KmNAqH/s1600/Ducks+on+the+Squamscot.jpg" _fcksavedurl="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRLqXXh3Y_5YyzZzDH1t65DLurxP7PLZDiBM412ukXqdIgrLRgOoUkLGOGyUpxE4pGSb0Ne4rUDp2bdjdfc9SOp-U_WoqWupY25BqQjr3wfVcU4cw1T7dGCV_o6lYtC2l3I5_4KmNAqH/s1600/Ducks+on+the+Squamscot.jpg" onblur_fckprotectedatt="%20onblur%3D%22try%20%7Bparent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully()%3B%7D%20%26lt%3Bbr%20%26gt%3B%26lt%3B%2Fa%26gt%3Bcatch(e)%20%7B%7D%22"><br /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Ah! Perhaps therein lies the problem. Those</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">around me have been a bit <em>too</em> positive, a bit <em>too</em> eager to assure me of their confidence in me. Quite frankly, extremes of any kind tend to make me nervous. I walk away doubting the sincerity of the one ladling on the compliments. Is this some residual hangup from the past? Most assuredly! Even so, this skepticism exists alongside the mistrust and tendency to perceive criticism when none is given--mainly because I feel so guilty for having gotten myself and my family into such an unholy, untenable mess. </span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s1600/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg" _fcksavedurl="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s1600/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg" onblur_fckprotectedatt="%20onblur%3D%22try%20%7Bparent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully()%3B%7D%20catch(e)%20%26lt%3Bbr%20%26gt%3B%26lt%3B%2Fa%26gt%3B%7B%7D%22"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482447542286229778" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s400/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg" _fcksavedurl="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s400/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg" style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">I simply cannot forgive myself for having gotten "sick" in the first place. Why did I not plan things out better? How did I miss all the warning signs of impending disaster? And why was I unable to somehow repair the before fragmented family structures from my past for the children's sake? How can anyone have "screwed up" this badly? And, having made such a collosal mess, why can I not fix it? What is wrong with me, what is wrong with me, what is wrong with me?<br /><br /><br />My children, of course, cannot say enough about their collective and individual confidence in my capabilities as a Good Mother. But what do they know? I trained the little suckers to think that way! The Green-Eyed One would have told me that this is a wonderful opportunity to find my heart, to explore the situation with curiosity as a <em>part</em> of my journey in life--as a merely a <em>part</em> of who I am or what I feel...but, having royally ticked him off as well, he isn't here to say it. (...which may not be a bad thing, really...?) Also, time plus experience have taught me that "this, too, shall pass." In a week--maybe a month or two in this instance--the thoughts and feelings I now voice will be long forgotten, replaced by joys and concerns of a totally new stage of living and experiencing.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRLqXXh3Y_5YyzZzDH1t65DLurxP7PLZDiBM412ukXqdIgrLRgOoUkLGOGyUpxE4pGSb0Ne4rUDp2bdjdfc9SOp-U_WoqWupY25BqQjr3wfVcU4cw1T7dGCV_o6lYtC2l3I5_4KmNAqH/s1600/Ducks+on+the+Squamscot.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRLqXXh3Y_5YyzZzDH1t65DLurxP7PLZDiBM412ukXqdIgrLRgOoUkLGOGyUpxE4pGSb0Ne4rUDp2bdjdfc9SOp-U_WoqWupY25BqQjr3wfVcU4cw1T7dGCV_o6lYtC2l3I5_4KmNAqH/s400/Ducks+on+the+Squamscot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482447710828413186" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">We will get through this rocky period, the children and I.<br /><br />Our family will emerge on the other side of this annoying little detour all the wiser, all the stronger, all the more confident for having faced it all head-on.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br />Dickensian times, Ecclesiastical seasons all dancing to the music of time...and all that rot, don't you know!<br /><br />Still...<br /><br />All this having been said...</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s1600/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkt3q5E5HpghRNFOHR2GLK_0eWKLGJF2suDRERbhqDveYEAbVPonYzcGEeBwXVElmwx5qEqqdThg5e2vNmzxbRZ0SE0-KfBtAr9iMZCeCalB4Il6EJwqaD1CaYAfvRhC9h3kJRqtatRbS/s400/Lion+Rampant+on+a+Flag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482447542286229778" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">For right now, though,</span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">"in the moment," </span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);font-family:arial;font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">the future is confusing, daunting, and untenable. Everything stinks. Life is a muddle...and we're all going to suffer, suffer, suffer then die in a big ol' bloody heap!</span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-36270007447373168732010-06-13T19:23:00.001-07:002010-06-19T13:06:24.885-07:00Just Thinking<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s1600/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTPWfeCGN66KWHWMbhm_q0Fi3w4hssrGFzkHiwZ0HyhN3hDLgF_VnyLynX2HoPkyxGj7gRt9oVXlCXBVvjLYRsbwgGhSANIUr4ueezCPfeEtQevv2VyFkOP7YgrTTDHd1KNzFiBiRqLonu/s400/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482449802259122146" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PmUuvWLC4i3VB4gTZG-7FtenohIW8AADXJVzhawL4vf2fLAAQSi6R1bEyjchMKRZRKVkfJph6-E7z9pSzvxl1pAdqjxxrUoUvMmpkVSSZOZQ0qcafo8Y8M1tseDUKy2t2Y5PVia4bxHD/s1600/IMG00996-20100605-1150.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_PmUuvWLC4i3VB4gTZG-7FtenohIW8AADXJVzhawL4vf2fLAAQSi6R1bEyjchMKRZRKVkfJph6-E7z9pSzvxl1pAdqjxxrUoUvMmpkVSSZOZQ0qcafo8Y8M1tseDUKy2t2Y5PVia4bxHD/s400/IMG00996-20100605-1150.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482449595420286386" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">Life in and of itself holds such beauty..</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 102, 51);">that it is so very easy to lose track of those things which are most important...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />How?<br /><br /><br />Why?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-9787630258301145932010-06-13T19:18:00.001-07:002010-06-14T07:05:24.927-07:00Me?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XKjf-ZN2c9yrHaBidypqFnu0392qQrKZCcTlcNf2wd5g4RFiDwQ621oaROSvuNoba3Kzvp8K1osuw_psLdaVGv_k0CveS1imbls1_wcLTiW8d-oFkgD7e4jH10cOeTzucvlJPnk-u9TZ/s1600/IMG01002-20100613-1144.jpg"><br /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;"><br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;">Outside, the sun is shining. Its piercing light and radiant warmth--even in these earliest morning hours--slices through the gloom and chill of the last three days. </span></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;">As I gaze at the pale, autumnal greens of the trees and grasses beneath me, I struggle to tap into some emotion, some reaction that will link me mentally, sensually, emotionally to the still, almost somnolent view below. </span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;"><br />Recently, it has become more and apparent that my latest "ordeal" has wrought certain changes within me. Far more often than not, I feel as though beneath this skin, deep within these bones lies a different person altogether. Priorities have changed. My outlook on life is drastically altered.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XKjf-ZN2c9yrHaBidypqFnu0392qQrKZCcTlcNf2wd5g4RFiDwQ621oaROSvuNoba3Kzvp8K1osuw_psLdaVGv_k0CveS1imbls1_wcLTiW8d-oFkgD7e4jH10cOeTzucvlJPnk-u9TZ/s1600/IMG01002-20100613-1144.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4XKjf-ZN2c9yrHaBidypqFnu0392qQrKZCcTlcNf2wd5g4RFiDwQ621oaROSvuNoba3Kzvp8K1osuw_psLdaVGv_k0CveS1imbls1_wcLTiW8d-oFkgD7e4jH10cOeTzucvlJPnk-u9TZ/s400/IMG01002-20100613-1144.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482449317013515602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;">I sometimes wonder if some part of myself has been lost and lies irretrievable, just out of reach....</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;"><br />I absolutely, positively hate to write!</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4Bwin9fzm-IMwy7f-SbehyNJLHtR8vRLFzqlMIDiDOZYpgeXz7X8nzheQqB9X15po_8ztwuA8JAZZcZRsYFShG-POFevsK20529F00lSx9_YoHcu1yP6KYZ4Bk72uq9a1adTVGocNumU/s1600/Exeter+Gazebo.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO4Bwin9fzm-IMwy7f-SbehyNJLHtR8vRLFzqlMIDiDOZYpgeXz7X8nzheQqB9X15po_8ztwuA8JAZZcZRsYFShG-POFevsK20529F00lSx9_YoHcu1yP6KYZ4Bk72uq9a1adTVGocNumU/s400/Exeter+Gazebo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482448314956327746" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;"><br /><br /><br /><br />This, naturally, is a development I never expected. The changes in appetite, sleeping patterns, and musical tastes were alarming enough. And, I doubt I will ever grow accustomed to the inability to sit long enough to enjoy a good book. Forgetting minor things, sending the wrong e-mails to the wrong people and staring at text messages (mid-word) because I cannot recall what I had intended to say, to whom, or why: this two has nearly reduced me to a quivering mass of paranoid indecision.<br /></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkMu3kFh7Kf_tCOYZ07if-Q_rBxU6WfWXyMWoZZxRv4kFrasXRFtQI0BHz3ZOaCogPGygHh2UKObBV8Vs4ZO-i6_M3ogGiUns8YYpSBwmLqTgO8gwvk92D5XmDbPGihLAR8qHTjhumJxf/s1600/IMG01003-20100613-1144.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkMu3kFh7Kf_tCOYZ07if-Q_rBxU6WfWXyMWoZZxRv4kFrasXRFtQI0BHz3ZOaCogPGygHh2UKObBV8Vs4ZO-i6_M3ogGiUns8YYpSBwmLqTgO8gwvk92D5XmDbPGihLAR8qHTjhumJxf/s400/IMG01003-20100613-1144.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482448639317964786" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 153);"><span style="font-size:large;"><br /><br />Yet, to find myself unable to write, to find little (if any) enjoyment.in the crafting of sentences or the process of transforming thoughts into first syllables then sentences, imagery: such a thing is, even now, beyond comprehension. Obviously, I can force the issue. With a tremendous amount of concentration, I can muddle through the process; however, to do so is hard: the act itself mechanical: the results, lackluster. I don not know what to make of it all. Everything still feels so very foreign--no thought, no feeling, no action quite my own. This detachment from everyone and everything , moreover, no longer strikes me as out-of-place or strange. The sensations have become a normal part of my everyday existence, incorporated into my every routine. I chew without tasting, move without thinking, walk without seeing, read without retaining...<br /><br />And write without enjoying.<br /><br /><br />Again, I find myself sitting here wondering if anything will ever return to normal. Will I ever in any way resemble the person I was. And, if not, if that "Chanctetinyea" is forever lost, will I ever make peace with the woman who has sprung forth to take her place?<br /></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-13054085137171796792010-06-12T09:27:00.000-07:002010-06-12T13:17:26.160-07:00What Now?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXMaAoqlOdsoyR8ZAOCdrZlRyxrveS4W7QP9Ax0dx9dMoXtOLyb2jFBXgpwqB79IRNaYAbGC1MZeVvHnhkkq0YMIPtWOen8XljC4ivYpiGeZWvk49pv8SPSzjl80osdZYIpdBeQnSIe4j/s1600/IMG00012-20100612-1242.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyXMaAoqlOdsoyR8ZAOCdrZlRyxrveS4W7QP9Ax0dx9dMoXtOLyb2jFBXgpwqB79IRNaYAbGC1MZeVvHnhkkq0YMIPtWOen8XljC4ivYpiGeZWvk49pv8SPSzjl80osdZYIpdBeQnSIe4j/s320/IMG00012-20100612-1242.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481953888264544594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">As the rain beats unrelentingly outside my bedroom window, I recall just how incompatible the New England weather and I actually are.<br /><br />I never thought I would be returning to Exeter New Hampshire. Now that I am here, I have no idea what I expected, in my planning and travels, my experience here to be. Now that I <span style="font-style: italic;">am </span>here, however, I have no idea what to feel, to think, or even to <span style="font-weight: bold;">be.</span><br /></span><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Following Ondrelique's graduation</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">, the girls and I are staying on as house guests in Exeter, New Hampshire, . It was an unforeseen pitstop to say the least; and, being very unaccustomed to accepting hospitality of any kind, I find myself a rather poor house guest. It is odd how easily we all slip into modes of thought and behavior. For me, the objective has been the very frustrating cycle of survival-recovery-survival-recovery that basic human responses and sensations now seem...foreign. That kind of emotional and psychological detachment, I am told, is not unusual in "near death" situations. The problem is, I never felt as though death were particularly near to me: just the constant gnawing of my own perceived inadequacy.<br /><br /></span><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">(Chance, was it Dan Brown in your class...or his brother Chris?"<br /></span><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Drawing a complete blank: "Brown...Brown...I think so. I'd have to put a face to the name, though...?"<br /><br />"Do you know who I'm talking about?"<br /><br />"Uh...<em>Brown</em>...?" I mutter, still utterly lost.<br /><br />"<em>The Da Vinci Code?"</em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">"...Oh. Yeah. Him." </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >We were in the same general class, weren't we? Man, do I feel like a complete failure!)</span><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><em><br /></em></span></p><p><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);font-size:130%;" >Being here again has awakened sleeping ghosts--curled quietly in the dark corners of my hidden psyche--that I did not even realize existed. How odd it is that we human beings find phantasms of reality lurking behind every corner while the imaginary shadows of our most deeply-seeded insecurities take on the depths and dimensions of Unavoidable Truth. For me, the notion of myself as unforgivably lazy (rather than recovering from a severe medical setback) </span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span><span><span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Years before, when youthful confidence never allowed me to for a moment lose track of my own sense of self-worth, not once did I doubt my ability to take this world into the palm of my hand, then nonchalantly set the sucker on fire. Strength and determination lent to the illusion of invincibility which deluded me into believing that time, though of importance to everyone else, would bend to my will. Nothing would change unless I first gave it permission. Life existed to do my bidding. And if I didn't like it...well, then, life had to deal with my omnipotent wrath.</span></span></span></span><em><br /></em></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span><span><span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Now, as I struggle to relax and enjoy the respite so generously proffered, I wander the only semi-familiar pathways of Phillips Exeter Academy searching for traces of that fearless young girl. Where, exactly, is she...and why can I not find her (alongside those specters of my ever-growing dissatisfaction) within me? After twenty-plus years, did I truly expect to see her, some benign adumbration of my most secret longings, bopping past the Academy Building or Phillips Hall? Or, was I hoping to catch some whiff of her youthful essence--imagined or no--floating on some summer breeze as a reminder of all that I was, all that I once hoped to be?</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><span><span><span><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">Whatever it was that I had in mind, the fact remains that these last few years have caused a mental rift between the person I am and the person I now deem myself to be. In my mind, medical setbacks have come to represent abject failure. It was one thing, to be told that the end was unavoidable, leaving me no choice but to make peace with myself and my own failings. Now, this miraculous second (or third, maybe fourth) chance at life is...daunting. So much of my former passion for living seemed to have already passed on to the fabled Other Side: and, as such, I find myself left with no concept of who and what I now wish to be.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">Do I even have a desire to write any longer? Does writing evoke in me any sense of pleasure or accomplishment any longer. Do I even care if I write </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Great American Novel </span><span style="font-size:130%;">at this stage of my life? At a time when everything I thought I knew or believed about myself and those around me has come into question?<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">I have no idea....</span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;">But here--now--is a great place to find out.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><em><br /></em></p></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-64816127197249344672010-06-11T09:41:00.000-07:002010-06-11T11:39:27.533-07:00Onward and Upward<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8T9yWyjq01WDjsU_3-3a2VMmwip0opePRq-GhTAGyov71_4aU1b_kBrTo6UeX8z9DJRpVGNVxWRmy13_0M2O3-YN7kujyFQUZXC6Vo6A5laHKGqwnJUT7-0Fy5OkOiBuID_snCK8JstFl/s1600/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8T9yWyjq01WDjsU_3-3a2VMmwip0opePRq-GhTAGyov71_4aU1b_kBrTo6UeX8z9DJRpVGNVxWRmy13_0M2O3-YN7kujyFQUZXC6Vo6A5laHKGqwnJUT7-0Fy5OkOiBuID_snCK8JstFl/s200/IMG00997-20100605-1150.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481587422199549570" /></a><br />This morning I awoke late, having actually slept the night through. The morning being a chilly one, I found myself--now unaccustomed to the biting New England weather--shivering my way quite slowly through my morning routine. So many tasks lie before me, leaving me cringing at the thought of even facing the internet...much less the silent, menacing threat of my mobile phone.<br /><br />Still, I remind myself that life holds the bright promise of each new day; and positivity is, as always, more productive than its evil twin. So, onward and outward we go, learning from the mistakes of yesterday, relying upon the wisdom of life lived, preparing for the worst...<br /><br />Yet expecting the best.Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-57805965666678799802010-06-10T18:40:00.000-07:002010-06-14T10:14:30.960-07:00Changing Identities<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50CqAKQTwCr_52n1-UpkGT7Ub-U5bLjsaf4Fy2-h7JLNEfwwfpJxq8M4tmdPxgapViaWa1ItbsG55HCZK6dd1NRvgTtjER6OyVXgV4bwxyYz7rqpgXVdxP1r7yvzWLqrjJASyKw3H4Aop/s1600/Elm+Street+Crest.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50CqAKQTwCr_52n1-UpkGT7Ub-U5bLjsaf4Fy2-h7JLNEfwwfpJxq8M4tmdPxgapViaWa1ItbsG55HCZK6dd1NRvgTtjER6OyVXgV4bwxyYz7rqpgXVdxP1r7yvzWLqrjJASyKw3H4Aop/s320/Elm+Street+Crest.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482446552683905618" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">When I started this blog, I had no idea that life held such challenges in store for me. It seemed such a simple endeavor: now that my children were older and no longer needed such constant supervision and intercession, the time </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">was ripe </span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">for making serious changes in my life. The option to make those choices, furthermore, based on my own wants, needs, and desires (within the boundaries of common sense and basic reason) had finally presented itself. And, albeit I had not regretted putting certain objectives on hold while concentrating on motherhood and raising a family, from the outset, the Master Plan had been to return to my first love (creative writing) once the children</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"> were older.<br /><br />Yet, so many unanticipated obstacles have arisen.<br /><br />Who could have predicted the sharp turns in the pathways ahead?<br /><br />It amazes my how different the woman typing this entry is from the enthusiastic creature who embarked upon the process of chronicling this portion of life's journey an eternity ago! She is harder, less optimistic. Her faith in herself, in others, in love, in human nature, even in the basic premise of symbiotic balance in life have been ripped out of her, roots and all. What is left is a floundering of mind, body, and spirit so bewilderingly foreign that she stands bemused and disoriented, searching for familiar landmarks around her, within herself, within those s</span></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">he once held dear.<br /><br />The most frightening thing of all?<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJhsIpELZO8mceiviUwE6YQEeuAir5gD4Eo3DXHVaZGTTvk_ACwcLxG7L9qrLTDCQtcJ1JkCn46gjcO5rBZPIOryNBavTEuz5pW0jxgIDT0SWRFXMYRFqDZcKXfeY-yY7IonOoOqAAyyf/s1600/Griffin+on+a+Flag.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJhsIpELZO8mceiviUwE6YQEeuAir5gD4Eo3DXHVaZGTTvk_ACwcLxG7L9qrLTDCQtcJ1JkCn46gjcO5rBZPIOryNBavTEuz5pW0jxgIDT0SWRFXMYRFqDZcKXfeY-yY7IonOoOqAAyyf/s320/Griffin+on+a+Flag.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482446697814127682" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">I no longer enjoy writing.<br />As much as I tell myself the change in attitude is a temporary one, something deep within knows that this is not the case. Writing holds no interest for me now. It is a habit, comforting in some ways but by no means engaging or fulfilling.<br /><br />It is all so terrifying.<br /><br />Since childhood, the love of writing, of reading, of weaving sounds and syllables, sights and settings into intricate stories showcasing the many nuances of life--what it was, what it should be, what it asked of those who partook of it, and all that it demanded of us all--has defined me. If paper and pencil were not at hand, I scratched out lines on the soft-silted powder that dusted the summer-scorched earth. I wrote entire volumes in my head, able to mentally turn the pages and edit each individual line as easily, as concisely as my mother might have corrected her students' English papers.<br /><br />It was all so vital. So very real.<br />Now I find myself wondering who I am, how I will spent my time, on what will I expend my energies, where will I direct my passions, what will become of me, what might I possibly do...<br /><br />If I can longer write...?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3P9FBArAxxRQiDuPH9OVMs8jF1g1MA0K5pw4qXd768HA53Ksg-dXsIzh-GyR90XzpPisHKOQc2-mLK27igf0i00yv6LNYiGQsE3WBirKqfs6xUtkgJhh22b9n80F0ucdKdkjBQHIjTcjx/s1600/Ripples+on+the+Squamscot.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3P9FBArAxxRQiDuPH9OVMs8jF1g1MA0K5pw4qXd768HA53Ksg-dXsIzh-GyR90XzpPisHKOQc2-mLK27igf0i00yv6LNYiGQsE3WBirKqfs6xUtkgJhh22b9n80F0ucdKdkjBQHIjTcjx/s400/Ripples+on+the+Squamscot.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482447095965928274" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-2849103407752801072010-06-09T19:20:00.000-07:002010-06-12T13:20:51.950-07:00Rites of Passage<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpArlgVhL0kiwZ55e7B-0Tmw4DdOtZZB0cHzpSJVj0aQUmVP_nPpQydy5A6D9MsI-HYtaNgebjUJwomK3YITEGKVo5xm7ld3sPWRyaukzDp-kl4S6kr_mKhssjJTRVeRkjhSxv3hKQY-g/s1600/IMG00164-20100605-1631.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRpArlgVhL0kiwZ55e7B-0Tmw4DdOtZZB0cHzpSJVj0aQUmVP_nPpQydy5A6D9MsI-HYtaNgebjUJwomK3YITEGKVo5xm7ld3sPWRyaukzDp-kl4S6kr_mKhssjJTRVeRkjhSxv3hKQY-g/s200/IMG00164-20100605-1631.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481588194780819170" border="0" /></a><br />This past weekend, my middle daughter graduated from Phillips Exeter Academy...<br /><br />It tuned out to be the worst day of my entire life.<br /><br />Despite the fact that the occasion marked the first time in nearly a year my little quartet was all together, everything which possibly could go wrong...did. (Trust me, this is no exaggeration.) From broken zippers on brand new dresses to packing problems, financial fiascos, horrendous health, and domicile dilemma's, this--which promised to be one of the most pivotal moments in my daughter's life...<br /><br />Ended in disaster.<br /><br />It afforded, however, the opportunity to reflect upon the many facets of human existence. I found myself ranting at the inconveniences, the complications which arose from my new status: everyday nobody. Returning to Exeter as far less than the conquering hero was humiliating enough; therefore, the inability to fully celebrate this monumental achievement with my children was utterly devastating. Once again, I had failed them. Yet again, doom, despair, agony, and pestilence were sure to result. The world would end, we would all die in the oft-predicted heap, and "why-oh-why didn't I just buy it in the stupid hospice and have the whole thing over with?"<br /><br />Still, bad grammar and all, the fate I expected did not and will not materialize--as I well knew, even during the dimmest moments. Challenges arise when least expected (or, most expected for we the incurably cynical), demanding of one the best she has to offer: courage, strength, resilience, perseverance, and honor. To strive for the best in oneself during the worst of life's disappointments is, perhaps, the truest reflection of inner beauty and grace. For perfectionists, the focus in life is so unwaveringly riveted upon success that the priceless nature of merely attempting the impossible (rather than achieving it) is overshadowed.<br /><br />Once again I am reminded that the majesty of life lies in the living...<br /><br />Not the avoidance...<br /><br />Even when it comes to Graduation Days from...Hades.<br /><br />Keep on livin', ya'll.Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-48578563687707526012010-06-08T21:18:00.000-07:002010-06-12T21:12:35.635-07:00You Think Too Much!<span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;">"You <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">think</span> too much!"<br /><br />How many times have I heard that one?<br /><br />(Or, its sister assertion, "You're too smart for your own good!")<br /><br />Perhaps I have fallen into the trap of over-analyzing anything and everything that dares cross my path. And, even though that tendency to mentally disassemble the many, varied sections of life to understand all that lies around me feeds the creative beast within, there is something to be said for setting free the more impulsive aspects of one's nature in order to absorb life. How easy it is to forget that particular sensation!</span></span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEKxftOcvdu4d1yJuWE_TijOgUNhwaU2yLZPNlvLYzlTPQA4A3QuV0zQGzgaiZ0B-qbaPSxfhZbFYOcgBdp83xB6ik8Pe3vZo3oY7mKQOg5K_hvLobxHZGE78t8YA1SosIMGuk5zKgl6-/s1600/IMG00011-20100612-1242.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQEKxftOcvdu4d1yJuWE_TijOgUNhwaU2yLZPNlvLYzlTPQA4A3QuV0zQGzgaiZ0B-qbaPSxfhZbFYOcgBdp83xB6ik8Pe3vZo3oY7mKQOg5K_hvLobxHZGE78t8YA1SosIMGuk5zKgl6-/s320/IMG00011-20100612-1242.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482010104301879202" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;">At the moments, my thoughts are directed towards the future. And the future need not be a bleak one. Not long ago, in the throes of disillusionment, I found myself dwelling on the negatives life had to offer. Its failures seemed far more significant that any promises it might hold. Failing health, disappointments in relationships, the demise of childhood dreams: these loomed above me as the bleakest yet most concrete of all actualities...<br /><br />Yet, with time and clarity have come renewed optimism. It is true, I have been ill; however the recovery which was deemed irrefutably impossible now lies within reach. Granted, financial instability is a daunting presence in my current life; but, in this economy, quite a few individuals can easily say the same. One dollar lost is identical to any future dollar gained, while the true treasures of life--joy, fulfillment, contentment, achievement, peace, satisfaction, love--are truly unique: ever-changing and irreplaceable from moment to moment. Yes, I have recently experienced heartbreak; however even this came as a result of one of the deepest, truest glimpses of friendship and kindness one could ever experience. As always, the pain of loss subsides, giving way to remembered laughter, shared confidences, and images of true happiness, all of which remind me that it certainly is better to have loved and lost to have never known that particular moment of loving at all. And, I must admit, even the desire to write--though not completely restored to me--cowers in hidden corners, daring to lift a tentative glance towards the light of inspiration.<br /><br />The time has come to stop over-analyzing, to stop trying to arrange my life into neat or perfect columns and rows.<br /><br />I think to much.<br /><br />It is time I remembered how to again simply <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">BE.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-34662454922858360902010-05-30T18:58:00.000-07:002010-08-30T19:13:45.400-07:00Updated Titles by Chanctetinyea J.J. Ouellette <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/chance/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; 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mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;">Additional Titles by Chanctetinyea J.J. Ouellette<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;">
<br /></span></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;">
<br /></span></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; line-height: normal;"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;">
<br /></span></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;">Poetry<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;">Unpainted Canvas</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">ISBN: 978-0-557-63112-4</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">(ID #9272461): <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/unpainted-canvas/9272461"><b style="">http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/unpainted-canvas/9272461</b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">
<br /><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;">When the Sun Shines in Winter <o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">ISBN: 978-0-557-63113-1</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/chance/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} a:link, span.MsoHyperlink {color:blue; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} a:visited, span.MsoHyperlinkFollowed {mso-style-noshow:yes; color:purple; text-decoration:underline; text-underline:single;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal">(ID #9272496): <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/when-the-sun-shines-in-winter/9272496"><b style="">http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/when-the-sun-shines-in-winter/9272496</b></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">
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<br /></span></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 20pt; font-family: Eurostile;">Literary Fiction<o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;">The Stick Woman</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">ISBN: 978-0-557-64209-0</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/chance/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal">(ID #9294338):<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;"> http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/the-stick-woman/9294338</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">
<br /><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center"><i style=""><span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Eurostile;">Exile!!!!</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">ISBN: 978-0-557-63107-0</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; line-height: normal;" align="center">(ID #9272431): <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/exile/9272431"><b style="">http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/exile/9272431</b></a>
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<br /> </span></u></i></b><!--EndFragment--> <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/exile/9272431"><b style=""></b></a><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> </span></o:p></span></u></i></b><i style=""></i> <a href="http://www.lulu.com/content/paperback-book/unpainted-canvas/9272461"><b style=""></b></a><b style=""><i style=""><u><span style="font-size: 24pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></i></b></p> <!--EndFragment--> Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4557116888199383612.post-61757311244837093872010-05-22T17:07:00.000-07:002010-06-12T21:26:33.747-07:00Recalling the Darkness<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" >The searing waves crash,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Frothing, onto the soft pink sands that steam</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Beneath their fiery onslaught.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Numbing, blinding this constant pummeling,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > As hard, round stones sink</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > To press against the moist, vulnerable lining beneath,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Crushing the bruised swells of the shore.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Relentless is the tumultuous roiling</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Which pries muscle from bone,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Draining the tender marrow</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > So that the gelid winds</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Howl</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Through the achingly hollowed caverns.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Oh, but that it were merciful,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Pulverizing sense and sensation</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > To a jellied nothingness,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Leaving the helpless shell--</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Long emptied of the soft-bodied creature</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Once sheltered within--</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Free to float outward</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Into non-existence!</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Yet, no such succor does it offer,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > This unending sea of pain.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > On and on it flows,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Churning,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > The scarlet waters hot enough to scald,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Its foam a bitter, poisonous acid,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Slowly eroding flesh, layer by layer,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Ever bubbling,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Ever burning,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > Into infinity...</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-family:georgia;" > For an eternity.</span></span>Chanctetinyea Ouellettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07332988283174839582noreply@blogger.com0