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So many things that people do these days is a waste of time and energy. Like getting angry. Some people will get mad at the silliest things, but I guess it is hard to never get mad. Even I get mad sometimes. It’s a human emotion that is very hard to control, and usually gets worse if you try to control it.

Since there is no way, that I can think of, to never be mad then how about we look at ways to express your anger.

First off, yelling or raising your voice doesn’t help the situation. It almost always gets you more angry and probably gets someone else angry as well.

The thing that I do when I get mad is think about it. Think about what made you angry, and why it got you angry. Most of the time the answer to one of those questions will make you laugh. If another person made you angry then step into there shoes, metaphorically speaking, but if it helps to actually put your feet in there shoes go right ahead, just make sure there feet are out of them first. Most of the time the person that made you angry will have a good excuse, or they didn’t even mean to get you mad.

Life is short, don’t waste it doing something you might regret.

I hope you've had a great April. On this last day, here are a few facts on the environment from a local library fact sheet which might surprise you.

Hi! How ya doin'?

Welcome back! So whats new? Well, two posts back work was very slow and I am very grateful to have had some projects come in these past two weeks. So while working on them, I just got my new postcard out last week, and I am working on some new pdfs for the website. I FINALLY just got all my taxes sorted out and found that my amount due wasn't too bad at all. Nice! What else is going on?

Plenty! I actually wanted to talk a bit in this post about the slow times in freelance. It only took a little slow down to make me panic. I was sure the business was done, and I needed to find another production job. Maybe that will be the case if the economy continues the way it has this past year. But for now, I see the past two months as a great test to my fortitude and desire to really be doing this type of work. No doubt about it, my faith was definitely tested every time I looked at my bank account. Also, when not working, one's self-esteem takes a pretty big hit, too. "Why isn't anyone hiring me? Do I suck?" These questions creep up on you in the quiet times.

I have found the best way to deal with these times is to focus. Focus on one's work. Promote more. Fix anything you don't like about your portfolio; make it stronger. Clean up your website. Go draw. JUST DO SOMETHING so you aren't constantly doubting yourself.

I find this is a great time for personal projects. For me, its hard to make time for them when commissions are on the drafting table. So to utilize the time, and to assuage my doubts, I took on the Joker portrait from the last post, and another personal project. Sometihng I have worked on here and there is a comic concept my brother is tinkering with. I liked it so much I want to draw some stuff for it. We are currently reworking a short script, and here are the non-final character concept sketches:
The main character and his father (we are discussing a re-design of the father as I feel his character is wimpy)

The villain in armor and in robes

Supporting characters

A character study to capture a "crazy look"

I also started a little poster campaign for myself concerning our current economic situation and energy needs. It will eventually be a three poster series but for now it just one :)

Sketch:
This was just a sketch in my book. I had been tinkering with the concept for a bit prior instigating the poster project.

Final 11x17:
I decided to crop the art to more easily draw attention to the bulb; I felt the sketch had too much info in it. I mocked it up as a Waste Management poster to work my typography muscles, and I sent it to 'em. My contact there forwarded it to the proper channels, but I don't expect to hear anything as WM works with a design studio for all of their materials. But still, I wanted to at least try my hand as pitching an idea to a cold client to exercise those muscles as well. Anyway, the other two posters are looking to be themed around recycling and public transportation while using the term "green thinking." Someday, you'll see them. They are actually on a far back burner for projects I am much more excited about right now, both commissioned and personal.

And that's that. I have sketches for more posters underway, and some work due early next week so I better get back to it.

Enjoy the Day,
Chris

The 59th Seamour Sheep comic strip. Check out the Sheep Shop for more radioactivity!

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction


Rilla: Humph! No people in my pictures! That’s what rilla says. Does she even look at my pictures? LOOK at all these people I photographed while we were in India. There are so many everyday images I captured, so many expressions... like the shy smile of the dishwasher halfway up the mountain to the fort...


rilla: Rilla doesn't know I'm here... look at her getting all huffy at me when she thinks I'm not around. Shy smile indeed... such cheek to sneak in here and write this blog without me.
Rilla: ...and the skill of the women balancing humongous pots of water on their heads. What a feat. Can you imagine if that skanky rilla had to carry all the water she used everyday on top of her head... hah!


rilla: Me? What about her? Doesn't even want two different handles for hot and cold on the faucet... no... it's got to be a mixer... that's how lazy she is.
Rilla: And look at this old lady! Will I be able to carry such a burden when I'm her age and cross the street. Heck no, I can't even cross the street in India now!


rilla: Chicken!
Rilla: The perplexed look on this elegantly dressed gentleman... hey, she's taking a picture of me, should I smile or look wise? Seems like he did both, to end up with that perfect Mona Lisa smile!


Rilla: Oooh... this poor lad just got caught without his helmet! Oops. The cop's taken away his license! How's he going to wangle his way out of that one? Should have known better dude! Cost you a couple of hundred at least!



Rilla: Ooh la la! Now that's style. Look at 'em high heels go.


Rilla: I love the street vendors. This kid's selling pens and soooo proud of it!


Rilla: You want color... I'll give you color!



Rilla: And get a load of this guy. He's selling... mm... he's got... mm... tiki dolls?


Rilla: Cute little ducky,


...wait a minute, she's selling the same thing... only she's a little more pushy, and has cool teeth decorations.



Rilla: Hmm... now I'm hungry. Bring on the food. Yummy, crunchy cucumber, sour-sweet barrow fruits and those little dark red ones, never did know what they were called...


Rilla: This is the kind of spread I'm looking for. Corn cobs roasted over smoldering charcoal, rubbed with lime juice, salt and chilli powder. Yummy. Dad and my favorite roadside snack. Memories.


And speaking of Dad, here's his fruit vendor,still going strong after all these years.


Rilla: Flowers for your hair anyone? Fragrant jasmine, elegant tuberose?


rilla: Sheesh, now she's trying to be poetic all of a sudden. Poor child... sigh...
Rilla: Oh and how can I forget the bull charmer! Special for the festival dussera.


Rilla: That sneaky camel. He shows up everywhere.


Rilla: The cook's granddaughter. Isn't she a cutie?


Rilla: Time for the bath and who's helping mom, it's uncle!


Rilla: This portrait is one of my masterpieces. It is from my blue period...


rilla: Blue period... what airs. Oops... oh no... here it comes... wait for it...
Rilla: WHA…? Where did this come from? Who… rilla? rILLAHHHH! How dare you touch my camera… how dare you take pictures with my precious…
rilla: You said you were putting up pictures of people, I thought I'd help...


Rilla: That's not a person... that's a, a...
rilla: The angel from the top of our Christmas tree. Isn't she gorgeous? I love...
Rilla: You haven't answered my question! How dare you touch my camera?
rilla: Your camera? When did it become your camera?
Rilla: Since it came in the mail on my birthday.
rilla: It's my birthday too you know.
Rilla: But the card was addressed only to me. It said Happy Birthday Rilla. No mention of you...
rilla: So I guess you're not interested in what the tree looks like, hey? The ornaments?
Rilla: Ornament? That's a...
rilla: Flying pig! Isn't she adorable?


rilla: And these are the ones you picked up in India.



Rilla: Good grief. Have time for such fripperies as Christmas decorations, have you?
rilla: Time must be made for such fripperies or one would go insane.
Rilla: Doesn't seem to have helped you any... Hey, look at him. He's cute. That's exactly how I feel right now with all the Christmas cookies I've eaten.


rilla: That's how you look too!
Rilla: Oh, the fireplace. Neat!

Rilla: Wait a minute. THERE'S NO STOCKING UP FOR ME!
rilla: Calm down. You can have mine. It's the red one on the right. Big deal. It's empty anyway.
Rilla: Empty?
rilla: Well, let me know the minute you discover who gives Santa his gifts and I'll hire her.
Rilla: Oh. Hey, I'll stuff your stocking, if you stuff mine!
rilla: It's a deal! I love surprises!
Rilla: So. You done decorating?
rilla: No. See, I was putting bows up the staircase. But the rest of them have gone missing. I can't find them anywhere.



Rilla: Ha ha ha.
I know who took your Christmas bows.
Smile,
bow burglars--
YOU'RE ON CANDID CAMERA!

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction

rilla: I’ve been tagged.
Rilla: Tagged?
rilla: Yeah, with a meme…
Rilla: Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute…is this like that movie Groundhog’s Day? You already said that in the last post…the one you’ve been stuck in for a week. Thought you’d be stuck in memory lane forever. Now it turns out we’re in an infinitely repeating loop of tag instead.
rilla: Quite the flair for the dramatic you have. Ever heard the term Drama Queen?
Rilla: What meme is it this time? Don’t tell me it’s that eight things about you meme that’s popping up everywhere…that’s haunting cyberspace…
rilla: Now who’s stuck in memory lane?
Rilla: Well is it?
rilla: That’s the one. I got tagged by Scribbly Katia.
Rilla: Oh… well what are you going to write about?
rilla: I’ve no idea. How about, I love dark chocolate…
Rilla: Sheesh…be original…everybody likes chocolate…
rilla: Not Sandra…she hates chocolate. I just can’t understand that…can you? I mean how…
Rilla: Ahem!
rilla: …can you hate chocolate. It has to be one of the most universally liked…
Rilla: Ahem!
rilla: What?
Rilla: Meme? Remember? Eight things about YOU…not about Sandra?
rilla: Oh…yeah…it’s so difficult. How about that our Aunt Mattie was the first woman ever to achieve the rank of Lieutenant Colonel in the Indian Army? Does that count?
Rilla: There you go again, talking about OTHER people. Here…read my lips…it’s called the EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOU MEME!
rilla: OK…here’s a good one…YOU’RE FAT!
Rilla: OH YEAH? WELL YOU’RE UGLY!
rilla: There now, we’re off to a great start. We have already identified two of the eight things…let’s see …what else…?
Rilla: No encounters with celebrities…brushes with fame?
rilla: Can’t think of anything…oh wait a minute? Does Indira Gandhi count?
Rilla: You mean the late Prime Minister of India, Indira Gandhi…?
rilla: Are there other Indira Gandhi’s you know about? Might make an interesting…
Rilla: Go on then…I know what you’re remembering.
rilla: Well, it was you.
Rilla: Was not…
rilla: Was too…
Rilla: Was not…
rilla: You’re the one who saw her arrive at our cousin’s wedding and ran to her screaming “Aunty Indira, aunty Indira,” like she was some kind of far lost relative who had magically appeared to deliver you from shipwreck off an island…


Rilla: I was FIVE. OK?
rilla: You never let her hand go the whole evening…ha ha ha…poor woman…bet she never went to another wedding voluntarily…
















Rilla: Let’s see…what can we talk about that is actually INTERESTING…?
rilla: More interesting than you grabbing hold…
Rilla: How about you let go now and tell us something else about yourself…
rilla: My hair…
Rilla: Are you going to sing about it?
rilla: NO! Mom made Dad PROMISE to pass on his curly hair to me. Mom always wanted her little girl to have curly hair unlike hers.
Rilla: Dad didn’t keep his promise did he?
rilla: Well, at first Mom thought he had, because I was born with black bushy hair that stood up straight on top of my head. Brought the concept of Mohawk straight home…got Mom to wishing I had NO hair right quick.














Rilla: But she was so disappointed when it all grew out and your hair was straight as pins after all…she’d spend hours curling it…ah the sweet smell of ammonia…when was the last time you had a perm?

rilla: Well the thing was that in India people appreciate straight-as-a pin hair and they LOVED mine..
Rilla: Can we quit talking about hairy issues?
rilla: OK. Here’s something else…I have a non-addictive personality.
Rilla: Meaning?
rilla: Meaning that I can’t ever get stuck on doing just one thing…non-addictive…
Rilla: There’s a better term for that trait…
rilla: Yeah?
Rilla: Nowadays they call it ADD! Attention Deficit Disorder.
rilla: I don’t have ADD!
Rilla: Do too. I spent my entire life working tirelessly to put us through college with degree after degree and got ourselves a cushy professor job and you went promptly and blew it all…not creative enough for you, poor little sensitive soul, not much into economics and finance…you need to flex that foofoo muscle…
rilla: Foofoo what? You mean just because I went off to school to learn how to design video games…? A Doctorate in Doom...?
Rilla: Video games…yeah…who the #$%& goes to school to make video games? And then it was art school and web design and now it’s all about writing fiction…for children…good grief! That’s what I call ADD. And have you ever heard about staying in one place huh? You should try it sometime…it works…but no…you’ve been through Eight schools, Eight universities,
rilla: Hey, all those eights tie in nicely with this meme thing don’t you think?
Rilla: Eleven cities on Three continents, Eighteen houses…ADD at its supreme best…
rilla: Three-quarters of our life…
Rilla: What?
rilla: You heard me…three-quarters of our life!
Rilla: Umm…care to elaborate?
rilla: That’s how much time you took up doing your little economics and finance stunt. How about my turn, hey? HEY?
Rilla: Three quarters of our lives?
rilla: Yeah, you’re the mathematician, you do the math…
Rilla: OK…you’re right…but you’re still FAT!
rilla: No worries, mate…you’re still UGLY!

Hmm…I’m guessing that little rant revealed way more than eight things about us…but hey who’s counting…NOT rilla. Well, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’m supposed to tag eight friends to tell us a bit about themselves.
Rilla: You don’t have eight friends…
rilla: That’s you…you don’t have ANY friends…

…before I get distracted again, I’m going to be tagging people who may or may not have their own blogs –

Blog People:
Stephanitely
Writing YA
Editorial Anonymous – changing it to the Eight Things I See in a Manuscript That Make Me Say I’LL TAKE IT!
Kook

Non-Bloggers – leave your eight things about me meme in a comment on my blog…please? Pretty, pretty please?
LynNerd
Wub2Write
IntuArt
Rahul
FJS

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction


rilla: I’ve been tagged.
Rilla: Tagged?
rilla: Yeah, with a meme.
Rilla: Oh, you mean with that eight things about you meme…that’s haunting cyberspace and popping up constantly where you least expect it… actually… no… it’s EVERYWHERE on EVERYBODY’S blog and…!
rilla: Have you had your little rant, then?
Rilla: Yes.
rilla: That’s not the one.
Rilla: Oh. What is it then?
rilla: It’s a first memory meme. It was started by Linda Acorn on her blog Just Like The Nut. I’ve been tagged to write a blog post on my first memory.
Rilla: What is it?
rilla: What?
Rilla: YOUR FIRST MEMORY, DOOFUS.
rilla: Oh. I’m not really sure.
Rilla: Was it our first birthday?














rilla: No.
Rilla: Second birthday, surely.
rilla: No. All I remember about birthdays is that Mom used to make really elaborate cakes, that got fancier and fancier over the years, but…
Rilla: But?
rilla: I hated cake.
Rilla: Hated cake…yeah I remember that too. Loved the frosting though…yum.


rilla: Hated to wear dresses too.
Rilla: Way back then? Hang on a second…you’re trying to distract me. I’m still waiting to hear what you think is your first memory…you don’t have a first memory do you? Not much there, is there…? Brain like a sieve and all…
rilla: Sleeping under the bed…
Rilla: UNDER the bed?
rilla: Yeah, Mom had laid out blankets and pillows and we had to crawl in under, only I don’t know whose bed it was and I was so excited…I mean, sleeping on top of the bed was so passé, even to a two-year old.
Rilla: Two?
rilla: Must’ve been.
Rilla: But why were we sleeping UNDER the bed?
rilla: The war.
Rilla: War?
rilla: The Indo-Pakistani War of 1965, when we lived in the North of India. REMEMBER?
Rilla: Oh, that war. That was a long time ago. Nilokheri…sleepy little Nilokheri…Dad was the only one in the village allowed to have a radio so close to the border.
rilla: Yeah, I think he used to have to run the air raid siren too.
Rilla: …and he could get Pakistani radio and they said that the little hamlet of Nilokheri…
rilla: …had been completely wiped off the face of the earth…
Rilla: ….and there we were, in this hamlet,
rilla: …listening to the planes go overhead…wondering if it were only a matter of time before that fake news report did become true…but it didn’t…they never bombed Nilokheri…I mean really, nothing there to bomb…
Rilla: They bombed Ambala though…the biggest town nearby…
rilla: Yeah, the church Grandma used to go to when she lived with us for a couple of years…
Rilla: Do you remember Grandma?
rilla: No. But I remember the church. Its steeple was so tall, the low flying Pakistani bombers decided it was a hazard…
Rilla …so they bombed the church…
rilla: This is the church, and this is the steeple, open the doors and see all the people…you remember that hand game we used to play?
Rilla: Yeah…
rilla: Well after the bombs hit, there was no church, there were no people, the doors were always open…BUT THERE STILL WAS A STEEPLE!
Rilla:: Ha ha ha…yeah, I remember that…they didn’t get the steeple after all!
rilla: It’s not very funny…they bombed the church to smithereens.
Rilla: Remember how when we were older, we used to climb around in the rubble of the bombed out shell of the church…?
rilla: Shh…don’t tell Mom that. She was so scared the masonry would collapse around us. She made us promise not to…
Rilla: So why were we sleeping under the bed again?
rilla: To protect us.
Rilla: From what?
rilla: From the bombs…
Rilla: Did Mom sleep with us?
rilla: Don’t remember…
Rilla: Did Dad sleep with us…?
rilla: Don’t remember…
Rilla: WELL WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER THEN?
rilla: All I remember is being down on my hands and knees and peering under the bed and seeing these cozy blankets and pillows and things and thinking…this is WAY cool… we should do this more often.
Rilla: But it wasn’t our bed?
rilla: No…we used to sleep in a cradle then.
Rilla: And it wasn’t Mom and Dad’s bed?
rilla: No. I could never figure out why the bed was unfamiliar, but then just yesterday, Christopher laid it out…We’d gone to Delhi to fly out South to Hyderabad and Dad’s family to get away from the war and we were staying at a friend’s house and…
Rilla: …and Uncle T. drove us to the airport at the crack of dawn…in his pajamas…!
rilla: Dear Uncle T. He was such a sport. Guess he wanted us out from under his bed, though. Humph…no one sleeps under the bed anymore…it really is quite cozy…
Rilla: Sure they do.
rilla: Oh?
Rilla: I know someone who LOVES to sleep under the bed…
rilla: Yeah?
Rilla: Right there beside you… Sha-do…and he’s kind of wishing you’d leave him to it…you’ve already had your under-the-bed experience.
rilla: OK…thanks for sharing your space Sha-do…I have to admit, although I was all excited to do it at the age of two…now I I’d rather leave sleeping under the bed to you.
Rilla: Well come on then…get a move on there will you…what’s keeping you?
rilla: Umm…
Rilla: I’m getting pretty claustrophobic down here… can we get out already…?
rilla: I’m…umm…
Rilla: Well?
rilla: I’m…STUCK!

Sha-Do: Mrrrrow!


If you've read this far, and you have your own blog...consider yourself tagged. Post a blog about your first memory and come tell me to read it ;)
Thanks Linda...this was a fun idea.
People I have formally tagged so far:
Scribbly Katia
Disco Mermaids
Italian Moments
Sea Heidi
D L Garfinkle

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction


rilla: Ewww…!
Rilla: What are you ewwing about now…?
rilla: There’s a lizard tail on the mat outside the backdoor and it’s wriggling…
Rilla: Ah. Those cats. Can’t get enough of the lizard tails.
rilla: But it’s still jumping around, on its own…ewww.
Rilla: You’re such a wuss. What’s the big deal with a lizard tail? Been around lizards all our lives…

rilla: You remember when you were chasing that lizard around the walls in Nilokheri and it fell on my head…
Rilla: Gosh, that was eons ago. I must’ve been five years old…hmm. People used to think it was lucky for a lizard to fall on your head…
rilla: Yeah, and remember in Bangalore, there was this huge chameleon that hung out in the school toilets. Our classmate, Jonathon, used to say that chameleons can get into your mouth and pull out all your teeth unless…
Rilla: …unless you hold your lips in-between your teeth. Yeah! I remember that, gosh, I must’ve been seven. Made it a point to chomp down on my lips and hold on tight every time I went to the toilet…the things we used to believe…
rilla: And in Hyderabad, Mytrae and I would go out in rocks in the morning and ask the chameleons questions. If they bobbed their heads up and down, it was a ‘yes’… side to side was a ‘no’…Am I fat? Up and Down…Does he love me? Side to side! Ah…the wisdom of chameleons.
Rilla: Remember when the bit fat outdoor lizard got into our bathroom?
rilla: Yeah!
Rilla: You didn’t know it was there when you went in and then, the chicken you are, wouldn’t go out again ‘coz it was right above the doorway and when Mom called you, you didn’t dare tell her why you couldn’t leave the bathroom and she kept knocking and knocking…
rilla: Like you were so much help…
Rilla: Huh! It was my idea to go out the other way.
rilla: You mean the door behind the closet that led outside…nearly killed me trying to move that heavy thing and then the bolt was stuck ‘coz it hadn’t been used in a century...
Rilla: We got out…didn’t we? And all because of a lizard…scaredy cat. No, I shouldn’t say cat…our cats aren’t scared of the lizards…
rilla: It was huge…there's a reason they're called 'bloodsuckers' you know...
Rilla: Lizards around the house all the time…but you had to go and…
rilla: IT WAS HUGE…
Rilla: Not as big as the ones in Australia…
rilla: You mean the goannas…yeah, there was the one that hung out on the way down to Wentworth falls… oh, and the one in Lane Cove NP on the path near Mahrukh’s house…a lot of Aboriginal traditions think of them as thieves…
Rilla: Not all of them…how about the story of how the goanna built the first canoe…
rilla: I remember that…the goanna clings to the bark of trees and spends a lot of time considering it. He figures he’ll use the bark to build a canoe and spear some yummy fish.
Rilla: But as soon as he sticks a sheet of bark in the water, it starts to leak and goanna has to swim ashore.
rilla: Then goanna wizes up and figures out a better system that involves singeing the bark first and sewing it at the ends with softened cane thread and a needle made from wallaby bone and sticks down the middle to hold it open..
Rilla: Resourceful fellow…nice of him to share his fishing methods with humans…
rilla: …but the lizards I really liked were the frilled lizards…
Rilla: You like lizards now?
rilla: These guys are pretty…
Rilla: You mean the ones we saw in the red center…
rilla: There’s a story about them too…
Rilla: How the frilled lizard brought fire to the northern islands…?
rilla: Yeah…how the people would watch the smoke tendrils go up from the islands of New Guinea and wished they knew how to make fire. So, frilled lizard offered to swim up there to his sister’s house and ask her for the secret…
Rilla: …and he finally persuaded her to give him a live coal…she didn’t dare part with the tribe’s secret of how to make fire…and frilled lizard hopped from island to island on his way back. On each island he set some dry grass alight to ensure his coal was still going…and his people knew of his journey and his success by the string of smoke spirals they saw approaching.
rilla: But frilled lizard carried the coal in his mouth and when he finally reached home and his people used the fire to cook a delicious meal, his tongue was too burned to enjoy it…
Rilla: Poor fellow. Supposedly, if you look at a frilled lizard’s tongue you will still see that burn scar today…
rilla: Seems like a lot of symbolism there...and history...
Rilla: The history of fire in a lizard's tale...
rilla: Reminds me of the smoldering banksia tree cone, tribes near Sydney would travel with. When they reached a good camping area, they would simply attach it to a string and swing it around until the flames spurted out and fires could be started for the evening meal.
Rilla: …creation myths…gotta love ‘em.
rilla: Creation myths…hmm…I like any kind of myth…like the Ute tale of how lizard tricked coyote when he came to eat him. Here, says lizard, don’t eat me. I’m holding onto this pole that is supporting the earth and if I let go, the pole will fall and the earth will crack. Oh no, replies coyote. Don’t let go of that pole. But my arms are tired, whimpers lizard. If I don’t get any help, I’ll have to let go and then… NO! cries coyote, here, let me take a turn. So he grabs hold of the pole and of course lizard runs away. After a while coyote’s arms get tired and he finally has to let go. He shakes in fear expecting the earth to crack at any moment, but of course nothing happens…hey…
Rilla: Yeah, I see what you mean…that pole is probably the lizard’s tail.
rilla: You mean just like that one outside the back door that came off in the paws of Sha-do?
Rilla: Look, it’s wriggling again.
rilla: Eww…!

Funny how the flick of a lizard's tail can whisk you back through the years
Here's to Lizards!

Mexico



Hawaii








Mohave Desert, California

Read more mythology:
Aboriginal Myths, Legends and Fables compiled by A. W. Reed
Ute Tales collected by Anne M. Smith

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction

rilla: What is it?
Rilla: What?
rilla: Dust.
Rilla: Dust?
rilla: Yeah. What is dust? You don’t see it unless there’s a shaft of sunlight coming through the window.
Rilla: You do see it if you haven’t dusted in a while…
rilla: Here you think you’re breathing this lovely clear air and then suddenly you walk by a window. And there’s a stream of light pouring in. And it’s full of little particles. And you gasp. And you hold your breath until you’ve walked out of the light. As if the dust is only in the light and nowhere else.
Rilla: Reminds me of that Birbal story.
rilla: Birbal?
Rilla: Yeah. You remember Birbal?
rilla: A bit before my time, wouldn’t you say, given he was advisor to Akbar the Great, Mughal Emperor of India in the late say…sixteenth century?
Rilla: Are you always this dense or…don’t answer that…I’m talking about remembering Birbal stories from school.
rilla: School? That was a century ago. How would I remember…?
Rilla: The one about the man Birbal meets on the street. He’s standing under a lamp searching for something. What did you lose? asks Birbal. A gold ring, answers the man. So Birbal sets up helping the man search for the ring. After a while, when they are unsuccessful, Birbal asks the man. Are you sure you lost it in this spot? Oh, no! replies the man. I dropped it back there, but there’s no light there, and there’s no point searching for it in the dark…
rilla: Ah! Yes faint glimmerings of such a tale do arise now you mention…
Rilla: But my favorite Birbal story was about the man and the light.
rilla: The light? I thought this was the story of the man and the light…
Rilla: No no... the one about the lake a couple of miles from Akbar’s palace. Its waters would become exceedingly cold in the winter…
rilla: Well…Delhi is cold in the winter…but I wonder if still gets that cold, you know what with global warming…?
Rilla: Will you QUIT INTERRUPTING…? One day, when Akbar stops by the lake to wash his hands, Birbal mentions how people will do anything if the price is right.
rilla: People were the same back then too? Did they have reality TV?
Rilla: Don’t be ridiculous, says the emperor. No one can spend an entire night submerged to the neck in this frigid water without any heat source. If any one is willing, they will be rewarded handsomely.
rilla: Kind of like winning the Lotto.
Rilla: More like shooting a basket from half-court in a basketball stadium.
rilla: Yeah…you get a million dollars for that…
Rilla: We were talking about Birbal.
rilla: Actually, we were discussing the vagaries of dust.
Rilla: Are you going to let me finish the story or not…
rilla: Won’t get a minute’s peace if I don’t…
Rilla: So, as soon as Akbar issues the challenge…
rilla: Really, the kings in those days must have been mighty bored and overly rich if all they did was set up dumb challenges…maybe it was their equivalent of a reality show…oh, you’re tapping your foot…
Rilla: As I was saying…a poor man steps forward and accepts the challenge. He spends the entire night in the lake, immersed to the neck, with two of the palace guards keeping watch. The next morning the man demands his reward. Akbar asks the man how he managed to achieve the feat. The poor man replies that he could see the palace from where he stood soaking, and a light in one of the palace windows stayed on all night. He derived warmth from the sight and so…
rilla: Wow! What a neat idea. Talk about will, use of imagination…would make a great writer that one…or…you’re tapping your foot again…come on…I let you finish the story…
Rilla: It’s not finished.
rilla: Oh. Well get on with it then…sigh…
Rilla: The man cheated, says the angry regent. The palace light gave him warmth and he broke the rules of the challenge. Akbar sends the poor man away emptyhanded. Later that day, Birbal fails to show up in court. Akbar asks for him. Says one of the courtiers, Sir, he is making khichidi…that’s rice and lentils cooked together…
rilla: I know what khichidi is. I love it. Haven’t had it in a while. Maybe for dinner…
Rilla: So Akbar waits and waits but Birbal still doesn’t show. Finally the ruler grows impatient and decides to pay Birbal a visit. What’s taking so long, he asks. Well, replies Birbal, the khichidi’s not cooking as quickly as I had hoped. He shows Akbar a lovely fire going with a pot of khichidi, except the pot is suspended many feet above the fire. You fool cries, the king. How can you derive any warmth with the fire so far away? Well, replies Birbal, if a man can obtain heat from a light two miles away, why can’t I cook khichidi with a fire only ten feet away from my pot?
rilla: If I were Akbar, I’d have said Off with your head for making a fool of me. I assume the poor guy got his reward. But you know…my mind’s still on dust.
Rilla: Dust though art to dust returnest…
rilla: Just look at that will you? You think dust is dust is dust…but it isn’t…each little piece is unique…like snowflakes…some are short and straight, some are long and crooked, some are tiny and squiggly…brings me back to my original question…what is dust?
Rilla: Will you finish the dusting already. You were supposed to be done an hour ago…
rilla: How can I concentrate on dusting when you can’t stop with the stories…
Rilla: Hey…I’m trying to help you. I thought half of your writing exercises call for you remembering stories from your past…
rilla: That’s supposed to mean original stories…not other people’s…I don’t know where you excavated these ancient tales from…now will you let me finish the dusting…
Rilla: I’m not stopping you. You’re the one waxing eloquent on dust motes! Long, straight, crooked…
rilla: “Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast the mote out of thy brother's eye.”
Rilla: Hey…! Stop waving that duster around…oh…now you’ve done it… I think there’s a short squiggly one up my…my…maa …atchoo!

Hope your weekend was less dusty than mine!


How Birbal came to Akbar's court -- Funny
More Birbal Stories -- Stories I loved growing up -- Slightly grammatically challenged narratives ;)

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction

rilla: I’m so excited!
Rilla: Now what’s got you chattering?
rilla: S got promoted! How about that! I’m so proud.
Rilla: Yup.
rilla: Time to celebrate. Bring on the bubbly.
Rilla: Yup.
rilla: What’s the matter? Aren’t you thrilled?
Rilla: Of course I am. Very, very proud.
rilla: Uh…then why are you frowning?
Rilla: Just wish I could be as proud of you.
rilla: Huh?
Rilla: Well, that’s what happens when you stick to something…persevere…do a steady, great job. You get rewarded and recognized. It pays off.
rilla: Ah!
Rilla: Now if you could stick to one thing…
rilla: Instead of running around trying to find myself…
Rilla: Find yourself…what is that, anyway? When did you get lost?
rilla: Look, some of us don’t reach the ripe old age of THREE and KNOW what we want to do with our lives.
Rilla: Why not? And by the way, you're a long, long way from three, you know…exactly when is the ball going to drop? When are you going to settle down, stop trying out new things?
rilla: The ball HAS dropped. I’m a writer. Remember? But as for trying out new things…I’m never going to stop. I’m a ‘Renaissance Woman’.
Rilla: Huh! That’s just a euphemism for dilettante, quitter…Focus, that’s what you need.
rilla: You sound like Mom.
Rilla: Mom! I’m nothing like Mom. I promised I would never turn into Mom, and I keep my promises. Even if they make me miserable the rest of my life. It’s a matter of principle, duty. No one knows what that means anymore…
rilla: Yup! More and more like her.
Rilla: SHUT UP! SLACKER, BLUDGER…!
rilla: This whole deal about principle. Sounds more like an inability to admit your mistakes. And what about my rights?
Rilla: Rights?
rilla: The right to pursue happiness.
Rilla: How long you going to keep up the pursuit? Catch up, already.
rilla: Hey! Just because my happiness took a while to find...doesn’t fall neatly into a category defined as normal…doesn’t bring in the steady income…doesn’t run 9 – 5…
Rilla: There you go…an excuse for everything… trying to justify your incessant mistakes.
rilla: And you? On and on about what a failure I am. Never changes…
Rilla: Yes! I'm consistent. It’s a matter of principle, dear, but what would you know about that?

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction

rilla: To err is human.
Rilla: Have I heard that before somewhere? Sounds familiar.
rilla: Oh. It’s nothing. Just a play I’m reading.
Rilla: Hmm. I have heard that.
rilla: What?
Rilla: That erring bit, that’s just a fancy way of saying making mistakes, yeah? Well, I have heard that making mistakes is part of the human condition.
rilla: Uh-huh. Well, my friend’s really upset right now. Life’s pretty bad and she’s down. Thinks her life is a sequence of mistakes. She wants to know if you can be a serial mistake-maker.
Rilla: Not necessarily.
rilla: Oh? I thought you just said that erring is part of being human?
Rilla: There is a way to get rid of making mistakes.
rilla: What’s that?
Rilla: Get rid of choice. Choice is the culprit. If you have no choice, you make no mistakes. Simple!
rilla: Hmm. Interesting hypothesis. I kind of like that. Takes the uncertainty out of things. That’s nice.
Rilla: Yes! If you didn’t have any choice, you would never have given up your first job and lost that comforting salary. That was a MISTAKE!
rilla: But then, I’d never have gone to art school.
Rilla: Yeah, but if you didn’t have any other options, you would have stuck to art school and not gone off to learn how to make video games…that was a DISASTER.
rilla: But then, I’d never have gone to Australia.
Rilla: Yeah, but if you couldn’t choose what you did with your life, you’d never have given up your web-design job in Sydney…another loss of comfortable earnings, another HUGE MISTAKE.
rilla: But then, I’d never have started writing…YIKES! That would have been awful. That’s unthinkable. That would have been the biggest disaster of all!
Rilla: I wouldn’t have minded in the least.
rilla: NO!
Rilla: Well then, stop complaining about making mistakes. If you don’t want to make the choices in your life, someone else will make them for you.
rilla: But that someone else can make mistakes too?
Rilla: Only if they’re human.
rilla: Which would be the case.
Rilla: Then you'd just be stuck with the mistakes someone else makes for you.
rilla: Scary! No way to get out of those mistakes, huh? No second chance, or third or fourth?
Rilla: Nope. You’d live with the serial mistakes of somebody else. At least that way, you can blame someone else for your lousy life. No regrets of your own.
rilla: But you’d be stuck in someone else’s doo-doo.
Rilla: I believe the word is poop.
rilla: Doesn’t sound very attractive whichever word you choose. Umm…do you make mistakes, errors of judgment, blunders, slip-ups, bloopers…a mistake by any other name…?
Rilla: Me! Ahem! How ridiculous! I’m perfect.
rilla: I guess I’m perfect too.
Rilla: Yeah? How so?
rilla: I’m perfectly human.

NOTE: This blog is a continuing dialog between the two faces of rilla. The identity crisis is explained (if such a thing is possible) in the first edition. Click here to read: 1 -- Introduction

rilla: I have to confess, my writing’s been suffering a little lately.
Rilla: Has it caught a virus?
rilla: Shh!
Rilla: What’s wrong?
rilla: We’re on a computer…don’t use the ‘v’ word. No, my writing’s just a little lonely and unloved right now. I’ve fallen prey to an addiction.
Rilla: Typical! Here we are, depending on your writing for our bread and butter, and you’re off getting high…
rilla: …on blogs. Now that I have my own, I can’t stop reading everyone else’s too.
Rilla: Anything interesting?
rilla: Yeah, I’ve been discoing with the Mermaids.
Rilla: Dancing? With Mermaids?
rilla: Mojitos and multi-million dollar deals…
Rilla: I like the sound of that…
rilla: Scribbling with Katia about ancient artifacts and foreign films and wondering who we are anyway…
Rilla: That’s stupid. I know perfectly well who I am…you…now that’s a different question.
rilla: Autumn, alter-egos, recklessness, deadlines and illustrator step-moms…
Rilla: This is getting totally out of control. You stopped making sense four blogs ago.
rilla: …and sweat.
Rilla: Sweat?
rilla: Uh-huh. Just read a piece on sweat by an American writer living in Italy. People from around the world weighed in on the topic. Makes you think.
Rilla: You mean stink…
rilla: That too. But, seriously, it’s something that hits home, touches a chord, after all, it’s something everyone has in common…
Rilla: …and wishes they didn’t. Why on earth would you want to talk about it, or think about it, or blog about it or…
rilla: It just kind of occurred to me that if we spent our time discussing things we all had in common instead of…
Rilla: Common? How about poop?
rilla: Poop’s great. Sweat and poop. Makes us all need water. Good clean water to keep us healthy…
Rilla: Healthy? For that we need healthcare too…
rilla: Yes. Water, healthcare, food, shelter…
Rilla: I get it. Back to the basics.
rilla: Yeah. If we all discussed the things we have in common…
Rilla: Like sweat.
rilla: Sweat. Uh-huh. Instead of focusing on how we’re different…
Rilla: And poop.
rilla: We could save the world with blogs and sweat.
Rilla: And poop.