I am Ralph Ott. I live in a house tucked in the woods, with my much better half, Nan. We have three kids in college, and we're dealing with varying manifestations of the emptying nest. Nan and I got to have our life and now it's our kids' turn, and hey, it's cool. We still worry about them being out there in the world. My only hope is that they make less than half the mistakes I did, and that they have the same entourage of guardian angels that made sure I made it.I have worked as a mental health counselor and supervisor for 24 years now. It took me a long time to learn to love what I do for a living, but (most of the time) I feel like the luckiest guy in the world, because I get paid to sit around and talk to people. I also get to venture out and live life through the experience of others. My family finds it frustrating but humorous how I am always running into people whenever we're out somewhere, but I find it a great blessing to be involved in this work and to know so many good people. I think there is nothing better than good conversation.
I turned 52 this year, and well, whatever. Time passes and it becomes experience that seems mostly worth the cost. I'm not entirely okay with that old guy I see in photos of myself. I don't feel on the inside how that old guy looks. My body is like a car with 150,000 miles on it. Every rattle and weird noise starts to worry me a little, but I can't afford to have them all fixed.
I grew up in Bay St. Louis, MS, but the mountains have been my home for a long time now. We were home last June, and I was surprised how much I missed the coast and New Orleans. The Saints won a Super Bowl, which made life worth living, but now there is a bounty scandal that tarnishes their glory. Katrina will always be a big, big deal to us who were connected to the coast, even though it will soon be seven years ago.
As for the mosaics, I've been doing them for eight years. My work ethic is pathetic. I don't even feel guilty about it any more. This blog started as a place where I could safely emotionally abuse my mosaics, out of the neurotic need to berate myself about what all I did wrong. But then the blog evolved into my story in all its parts. This happened because it was easier to kill time on the internet and blogging than to face the uncertainty of screwing up whatever mosaic I'm working on.
And then there came a day when all my old stories were told, my new stories weren't coming in regularly enough. Also, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or violate any confidences. So much of what goes through my mind is unbloggable. I know this thing embarrasses my family, so I try to keep that in mind as I write. Along with the mosaics, I feel now that it is just something I have to do. I guess the bottom line here is that the self expression in the form of writing is as much a core part of me as the mosaics.
