The Galloping Job Seeker -- I have recently joined the long line of the galloping job seekers. Woe is me, notice the smile on the face is frozen, that's because of the scrutiny of prospective employers trying to read your every thought! Your on a wobbly and lobsided galloping horse. When they shower you with a left-handed compliment, you're galloping a little faster than usual and feeling a bit sprinty. When they point out a so-called weak point, your gallop gets less bouncy for sure. You see prospects a little more rosy and green, they're here to trample your poor galloping horse and point out reality to you not to expect miracles. By the time you finished one interview, half the day is over and you feel you've run a never-ending horse race; galloping wildly and meekly. The next minute your on your cell dialing home checking if someone left a message . Then your gallop starts slowing down when there is no message. Your face reflects the frozen smile of the bouncing gallops of "The Galloping Job Seeker". Another day has passed, time to get off this horse.

My life began in Greece. Although my memory of it is very clouded, can't remember beginnigs or endings there. It's one unrefined block. I can't even describe it as very happy or very heartbreaking. In one word I would have to say an average life for a somewhat average family of those means at those times. We had caring parents. We had lack of and surrounded by people with abundance of, that sort of prepared me for my whole life, but not for me when it came to money. Otherwise, I found wealth in being surrounded by a lot of family, friends and neighbors. I remember a loving grandmother too. I'll start there, heaven knows she needs a lot more recognition than she ever received! I usually draw pictures with people playing some type of instrument. It stems from the fact that I have always been fascinated in playing. In my time and my place in Greece, learning to play an instrument of any kind rested largely on your so called status in life. A person with no means did not learn to play. Getting back to my grandmother called "Nona" by us. My nona's story and the birth of my fascination of the arts is as follows: My Grandmother had a guitar once long ago when she was young. She told us tales of romance and glory when young she was. Nona said my grandfather (Papou) serenaded her with that guitar which she kept and together with him sang and played it after married they were. In America years after we arrived, my brother purchased a guitar. There it stood, sometimes picked up by her. We hung it on a nail on the apartment's wall. I could still see sparkles and faraway looks inside her eyes when chords she tried to strike. How wonderful to have such memories of days gone by, rather than empty dreams still waiting to unfold by some slim chance. On this guitar we fumbled a few notes to play, never completely happy with the sound. Perhaps some day the guitar chords will wake my yearning heart and sound their notes of love with crystal clear delight.

I am racing ahead. The art on your left is in honor of my grandson's birth this year. He has brought nothing but sunshine with him. I found a Picaso which I attempted to copy. Picaso was renowned for his works of art and my grandson is as well. The work reflects unending devotion of a mother to her child. Our child is much loved and like Picaso's works he is a lovely work of art and not because he is ours!