Peace, Love, and Biking

Recently my bike was stolen.  I woke up one morning to neighbors pounding on our door to announce someone had broken into our old non-functional  mini van we used for storage.  Upon further investigation, we found someone had thrown a rock through the window in the night to take my bike.  Since we didn't have the serial number and I hadn't put any stickers or other easily identifiable markings on it, there was little hope of getting my bike back. 
At first I was angry, annoyed, and severely disappointed with the whole situation.  I rode my bike often, biking was one of my favorite past times.  And now it was gone.  How could someone do such a thing?  What had I ever done to them?  "Economy is bad." I kept telling myself.  "People are desperate."  Even though in my book it wasn't a legitimate excuse for stealing, it was the most probable explanation. My bike was gone now, there was nothing I could do about it.  Being bitter at the thief wouldn't accomplish anything except drain my energy. John Lennon's "Give Peace a Chance" became my therapy theme song.  After that I found myself singing "...Ob la di, Ob la da, life goes on, brah! La, la how the life goes on..." the Beatles chipper tune helped perk me up.  Bike or no bike, life would go on. 
Before long I started bike searching.  I tried to view my old bike getting stolen as an opportunity to start over and get a new bike that fit my more recent style.  My old bike was white with pink flowers.  A while ago that suited me fine, but now I don't enjoy pink so much.  Perhaps now was the perfect time to re-style.  I could get a pink-free bike, and this time put lots of stickers on it so it would be simpler if it got stolen.  I began brainstorming for what type of bike I wanted and visited Loose Lucy's to peruse their bumper sticker collection. 
Soon I saw a bike on Craig's List that looked like a promising possibility.  It was a Schwinn, in my mind a good brand that would hold up well.  It wasn't pink, instead it was this cool purple tie-dyeish color. As an added plus, it was cheaper than those in stores, which would leave me extra spending money for stickers and other various upgrades I may want to add.  It fit my criteria so well, I ended up being able to buy it.    
Loose Lucy's has always been one of favorite stores.  It's artsy, unique, and I know the people there. They're really friendly, and they sell awesome merchandise.  Now they also serve as my sticker outlet.  Who knew a bike could be so fun when used as a sticker collection? 
Even though the bike-stealing incident was traumatic, I got a new bike out of it without much trouble, and it was nice to start over.  The thief must be happy they acquired a new bike, and I'm happy I have a new bike serving as a sticker collection.  So we're all happy, but I guess for future reference the moral of this story is;
Keep your bike locked up tight, get the serial number off of it, and customize it so it's easier to find if it gets stolen.

Is the Pen Greater Than the Sword?

I have always thought the pen is mightier than the sword. The sword is a physical weapon that damages the physical body, but the pen touches the mind. The pen is mentally strong and capable of much hurt or healing internally, whereas the sword is an opposite.  The sword is a physical weapon useless internally, but strong externally. Both are implements of power, to be wielded with maturity.

If the pen is greater than the sword, does that suggest internal strength is greater than external strength? Say the pen represents internal power, and the sword represents external power. Under this mindset, it makes sense that internal potency be greater than external potency. In conclusion, I would say that yes, internal strength is greater than external strength. And logically, anyone who believes in the pen more than the sword would almost have to believe in the potency of internal strength over external strength, if the pen represents the internal and the sword the external.

Contemplating the previous, I encourage you to draw your own conclusions. Is the pen really mightier than the sword?

Haiku

Haiku is an art.
Syllables are important,
But beauty counts too.

Poems are beautiful.
A haiku is a short poem,
Ruled by syllables.

If you write haiku's,
Be careful with syllables,
Make words poetic.

And just remember
The different forms of art.
Remember because;

Haiku is an art.
Syllables are important,
But beauty counts too.

Rainy Days and Art...

Last night was quiet, except for the soft pitter-patter of the rain. It was the perfect atmosphere for art.  The silent stillness of the day suggested painting.  So I took out my supplies and started brainstorming. 

Since I took an art class at USC recently, I have been inspired by self-portraits and interested in attempting to create my own. So I chose a picture of myself to use as a guideline for inspiration, and traced a basic outline of my face to transfer onto a big piece of art paper.  I had a decently large stack of old magazines to "recycle" into my art, so my original plan for my portrait was to collage my whole face.  But after pasting down the scraps for my hat and facial features, I realized I would need a bunch of scraps in very specific colors to get my skin tone and hair to my satisfaction. That's when my collage idea turned into a mixed media plan.  I love the flexibility of mixed media.  Since I'm somewhat new to doing portraits, being able to use anything and everything to create a loose self-portrait was peacefully enjoyable and unbound by the restrictions of focusing on one technique.
I used oil pastels for my skin tone, then gently rubbed chalk pastels over it in hope of blending the colors together.  My shirt and the butterfly are colored pencil. I painted my hair, and for the background I tore masking tape to my liking before painting over it.

I have always liked rainy days.  They are almost always relaxing and the atmosphere they provoke usually inspires me to do art.

More Fingerless Glove Action

A couple of days ago I went to a program at RCPL called "Knit and Crochet in Public" with The Woodland School. It was fun to the extreme to relax while knitting and crocheting with my yarn-savvy friends. I haven't been knitting or crocheting as much lately, but the program and my friends inspired me. Last night I was playing around with yarn, simply practicing different stitches and trying to come up with a new interesting technique, when I had an idea for lacy fingerless gloves. It took me a little while to come up with a pattern that was satisfactory and fit, but after trying several things, unraveling, and trying again, I had designed and finished one glove. Earlier today I started deciphering the pattern that I had somehow failed to write down for future reference. It didn't take long, and using the first glove as a guideline, (I could recognize most of the stitches,) I made a pretty accurate duplicate. I have always liked designing things, especially clothing, so these gloves were an awesome project and I enjoyed making them thoroughly.

My Seasonal Knitting Project

Years ago I acquired an interest in knitting. A friend of my Mom taught her to knit, and then Mom taught me. I have not been knitting consistently since then, but I still know how to knit. Every now and then, (especially in the Winter,) I will get on a knitting kick. Previous Winters I have made scarfs as Christmas gifts for my family, but this year I decided to try something different. I wanted to learn how to do more stitches and how to make other articles of clothing.

Before I got on my "knitting kick" I had been interested in fingerless gloves. I wanted gloves that would keep my hands toasty and warm, but not prevent me from easily using my fingers. Fingerless gloves sounded perfect. Flipping through my old knitting books trying to find information on new stitches to spice up my knitting a little, I stumbled upon a pattern for these gorgeous fingerless gloves. I read through it taking note on what size the gloves would be, what size knitting needles to use, what kind of yarn, what stitches it required, etc. etc. After thinking it over, I decided these gloves would be easy to make, suitable for my taste, keep my hands warm without restricting my fingers, and would help me learn new techniques.

It took me about a day to finish both gloves. When they were done, I was amazed at the simplicity of it. The result was exceedingly satisfactory. My gloves turned out better than I had imagined them being, and I really enjoyed making them. I look forward to future winters when the season will be ripe again for more handmade clothes to keep me warm.

Rock Climbing, My Sport of Choice

I felt a thrill of excitement as I gazed up at the wall. My body trembled with delight while harnessing in and double checking my knots. I nodded to my bilayer, who nodded with approval, the signal that I could start climbing. Mounting the wall, I was off. Slowly climbing, higher, higher, my body was methodically scaling the rock wall. Sweat trickled down my arms, legs, and face until I was drenched. Wisps of hair made their way out of my ponytail and clung to my forehead. Continuing higher up, my temperature rapidly rose. I was beginning to breathe deep, I needed a break. Getting into a good, comfortable position and leaning back, I took deep breaths. Looking down, everyone below appeared tiny like little ants. My elevation was great, but I was unafraid of it. It had become normal to me by now. Instead of being scary and frightening, it was invigorating and lovely seeing how far I had come in such a short time. Then I looked up, ahead. It looked like the next few moves would be somewhat difficult. The holds were further apart, almost out of my reach, and they were getting smaller. Then they grew again as they dotted up a slant. I also saw a dynamic move. Chalking my hands and preparing for what lay ahead; I heaved myself up into a standing position, and moved on. As I had expected, it was more difficult. My temperature continued to get hotter, my arms and wrist ached from the strain, and my legs trembled with exhaustion. I kept going. Now I was greasy with sweat, it was hard to keep hold of the wall. My hands were slippery and getting clumsy with the constant weight and effort. It was obviously time to chalk up again. Slipping my hands into my chalk bag in turn and rubbing the powder onto my hands provided more friction. Then I kept on. I was almost there now; the final hold was in sight. Excitedly, I made my way up the slant, taking care not to lose my footing. If I lost my footing while hanging upside down, it would be very hard to recover. Then it was over. The wall leveled out from being horizontal to vertical again. The dynamic move was now the next course of action. I studied the hold, and pictured where I would need to grasp it. Squatting and swaying back and forth as I gained momentum. Adrenaline pulsed through every inch of my tense body. Then with an extra excursion of strength, I leaped from the tip of my toes. My desperate fingers reached out to their fullest possible length, and scraped across the hold, barely unable to grab it. I fell a short distance until the rope caught me with an abrupt jerk. My heart was pounding. I was trembling all over, my whole body ached, and sweat was still pouring from me. Once more I chalked up, while occasionally tapping off the wall so I swung back and forth. I did this so I wouldn’t get stuck away from the wall. Rested now and a little more energized, I again grabbed hold and climbed the short way back to my previous location. Then I was ready to try again. I swung side to side gaining motion like before, and again I invisioned where I would need to grab the hold. Then I pounced. I reached out with my right hand, my arm straight and stiff as I attempted to grab it. My eager fingers brushed the hold, but this time I caught it with my left hand. Slightly stunned with my triumph, I hung for a split second with my feet dangling. Then I gained my wits and grasped the hold with my right hand also, but unable to reach good footing, I did a pull up to the last hold. I had done it. I had finished the route with only one fall. I shouted down to my bilayer, and the rope tightened. Letting go, I shook my hands out to help relieve the pain and achiness. As I was being lowered down through the air, I smiled to myself. I had conquered a hard slant, dynamic move, and had scarcely made an astonishing recovery from almost falling a second time. Yes, I had won. Victory churned through my body along with an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. Cheers from my friends floated up toward me from far below. I had made it.