Yes. Oh! Yes. Damn. I’ve missed an entire week in San Diego that was made just for me. Between the International Comic Con and The International Sand Sculpting competitions just two townships away in Imperial Beach…my heart is broken.
I am a San Diego native. Having spent my early years walking along the Sunset Cliffs in Ocean Beach to the sands along Pacific Beach and that wonderful old rickety Belmont roller coaster. Ah…the sweet smell of the ocean returns to the page, the brain, the soul of who I am. Memories surf the brain waves, curls cascade across my eyes, glistening shadows of a past well remembered.
In 1983 I sent a few drawings to a television contest…Your Wildest Fantasy on NBC’s Fantasy with Leslie Uggams and Peter Marshall (not the minister). this was a regular afternoon affair that kept me, uh, alive through a relationship tribulation. Any way, I sent in lyrics, poetry, artwork, script and television show ideas, and lots of other stuff along with a few really good illustrations. Signed anonymously, with a thumb print and my sons fingerprints as well. I never heard from them.
Before the summer was over, almost four months to the day that I mailed the package, sealed with a kiss and a prayer, I moved back to California from the little town of Scranton, Pa. leaving behind a broken heart, a box of albums, and a stereo that didn’t work very well.
There are several songs about that town. One by the infamous Burt Bacarach. Send My Picture to Scranton, Pa. This was on the flip side of a forty five that was left behind when I moved. Oh, the stories I could tell. But what really gets to me now, are a few small things that I can’t discuss here. Or anywhere for that matter. I gave up my copyrights when I sent that letter. Naiive. Twenty six, stupid.
So here I am, twenty three years later, remembering one drawing that was sold several years later at a Comic Con (I believe in 1995 or ’96) auction for almost five thousand dollars. Fire and Ice. Ah, I remember it well. This of course was created pre She Rah…and my sons were He Man fans. I chuckle at the bits and pieces that illuminate the past. I know my rights and priviledges.
I have the right to create. I have the right to recieve money for what i create. And I have the right to put my name on what I create. Or not.
I have the right to request help to complete the tasks that life has placed before me. I have the right to choose who and how I want something to be completed. And I have the right to say…Thank You to every single person that participated in the completion of a dream that is still being dreamed.
And to those few that did not…I have the right to say…take a look backwards before moving on.
I am an artist. I am a lyricist. I am a writer. I am a dreamer.
The wings once broken,
now stretch the sky,
and though I still haven’t learned to fly,
I look outwards across the land
Searching for the open heart and hand of friendship.
And I am the mother of four children, grown, learning to fly in their own right.
I am imperfect and still I am more than I ever could believe. I do not grieve the past. I embrace the memory with gratitude and grace. Thank You.
It will be some time before I post here while I get used to my new job on the “night shift.”