Visitation II

This is Jezebelle~ She has been with us for about two and a half years... hard to believe that this is the third year that I have lived here. I think it is, sometimes I have a hard time keeping track of time.

Belle belonged to a friend of mine, Evelyn, who I taught with back at Pender. Ev was a longterm sub, originally from New Jersey, blond and coarse and funny. She loved to make things, play video games, have the occasional drink- she gave up smoking long ago, but still let her inner wild woman out to cut up every so often.

Ev's heart belonged to animals. She rehabilitated wild life and always had some baby something that needed fed tucked away in her bag. Squirrels, raccoons, opossums, birds of all types... kittens. puppies. rabbits. hamsters. Nothing was turned away. At her home she had the occasional deer, or pony- maybe a pig or a sheep or a something found wandering and in need of a place to stay. Heal them, set them free, find them a home.

After I switched schools, I lost track of Ev- easy to do when not working with someone every day. She began raising and training bloodhounds for search and rescue. She had acquired her founding hounds back at Pender- I remember when she brought these floppy little puppies in for the students to see. Since then she had built up a kennel with a good reputation, and had left teaching to work full time with her beloved dogs.

Ev got sick- pancreatic cancer- it moved swiftly and she faded fast. I had just moved into the cottage, and saw one of her daughters working at Food Lion- she told me Ev was sick, and I planned to visit. I never got the chance~ but Ev did not forget me. After her death her kennel was dissolved and the dogs sold- her husband did not want to work with them, could not bear to have the dogs around. Two of the dogs were her favorites, they did not live in the kennels but in the house- these she wanted to make certain had good homes, where they could live the life they were accustomed to. One of the people she picked was me, and that is how I ended up with Jezebelle.

Remember the strange coffee-smell story of the other day? Where Jezebelle was scenting hard at our phantom smell? The next day I was petting her and felt something odd. It was small, and I thought I had just not noticed it before- she has allot of 'face' - over the next few days it grew rapidly until by yesterday morning her neck was so swollen that she could not eat or bark. I took her to the vet right off...

Jezebelle has cancer. Lymphoma, everywhere- sudden and invasive and it just blew all of her lymph nodes up like balloons. There isn't anything that can be done for it, no treatment, no cure- just keep her comfortable for the rest of her time. She only has about 4 weeks left. Belle is not in any pain, and has started steroids which have already reduced the swelling enough for her to eat. (And eat she is! The vet gave me canned food to 'tempt' her with...but Belle is like me. If it doesn't move fast enough, we gobble it down... she happily ate her tinned food, her dry food, Ursulas food AND Max's food...)

The smell happened again last night, after Belle ate. This time it was strong coffee mixed with cigarettes and a bit of woodsmoke, very distinct. I was typing up an essay on the computer, no coffee around (and no cigarettes or smoke...not even a candle on) The smell was powerful but fleeting, it only lasted a minute. Belle was all nose and wagging tail again... I like to think that the smell was Ev, stopping by to check up on her dog, make sure that I noticed something was wrong, was taking good care. Losing Belle will be heartbreaking, but I know that someone who loves her is waiting to see her again.

Wish-bone

Wishbone. If wishes were horses... well, I'd have a whole herd. (wishes and horses are two of my favorite things ever-)

I save wishbones- used to have many, but now only three as the others became part of a students art project. Since Grendel is at school, I don't eat whole chickens usually. Two that I have are from when he was home and I made soup, the other one I found on the road- it is not a poultry bone but belongs to an egret.

Collecting bones is one of the odder things that I do. I have always loved the mystery of them, their shape and form. My school studio has many antlers (from Texas Tom- though the kids are convinced that I am a mighty hunter, thus establishing my 'redneck' credibility), Bob the longhorn skull, a whole huge box of miscellaneous bones including deer, pelican, sea turtle, regular turtle, possum, dog (found it! no dogs were harmed), a huge cow femur and a tiny mouse skull. At home we have 20 million cow bone sections (but they belong to the doggs), my bear jaw (thank-you Ariel!), wishbones. All of my bones are found- one of those things that I am good at is finding bones, and it's rather funny. I always think 'oh no! someone else will be along to claim these' not realizing that most people are *not* interested in bones and find collecting them kinda creepy. It's all about the science though, science and art and magic. Of course.


Right now out side I have most of a deer skeleton (including the skull and a right impressive ribs/spinal section), a few assorted jaw bones (dog and possum), the rest of the egret (wingbones, long legs, a partial skull). I don't work at cleaning them anymore- I have a drying rack and just let nature take it's course. I don't collect them if they are 'messy'- I wait until they are skeletonized.... a few months outside in the sunshine cures them, the birds take care of any stray fibers, the ants any flesh. Waste not, want not.

Lenten Lillies

Daffodils are also known as Lenten Lilly (because of blooming during lent), Jonquils, Narcissus. One represents unrequited love but in groups they are joy, rebirth, eternal life, chivalry. They are one of the sigils of Wales, belong to Saint David, and form the crown of Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.

They are poisonous - I didn't know this- the word 'narcissus' is related to 'narcotic', when chewed the roots induce deep slumber that leads to death. Roman soldiers that were mortally wounded would chew the roots and drift off to eternal sleep. Amazing. Bunches of them in a room induce a hypnotic state and a headache from the concentrated smell. Personally, I love the smell- and while I have heaps of them around the house, I have yet to be hypnotized...lazy, yes, but I don't think I can blame that on the Daffodils.

I have started yet another book- this one a multi-colored journal Melissa gave me- that is a self-illustrated field guide to botanicals that are around here. I've always loved to collect, record, research, find out information. Art. Science. Magic.... so far in this book I have Daffodils, Black Medic and Bridal Bush... in the smaller book I have Rosemary, Horsenettle (a type of nightshade), Bear berry and several types of Holly. ... I started that book back at Christmas, but since decided that it is to small for the illustrations. Will use it instead for other things- the big book is better suited to the botanicals. I really should of been a companion of Darwins, or Sir James Fraser, or any of the other explorers who recorded the world and all of the curious things in it...

Not-A-Painting

This is not modern art, not a painting, but it is an artifact. It is my 'at-home' painting apron- I wear it most every night. I have one just like it at school- the colors/brush strokes are even similar. I wonder if you could identify an artist by their work clothes- probably. The types of paint used, width of brushes, my habit of wiping my brush on my right thigh.

I cannot believe how long it took me to discover aprons! These came from the (now gone) thrift store in Rose Hill- they are big half aprons, long, wrap around almost to the back. Cotton, washable, durable, not fancy enough to worry about. They have saved many clothes from excessive paint (I *still* manage to get paint all over me, but at least the front of my stuff isn't so bad...) and the one at school hides a multitude of sins. Spilt coffee? Bear-hair on a black skirt? Just put on the apron and pretend you have been working hard! Magic!

Melissa makes awesome aprons- I have a green one with flowers and deep lovely pockets and one of her heritage 'garden-skirts' from her grandmother. I save these for when I am sewing or not-painting... they are to special to get all wild with the paint.

I am a messy artist. It's my nature- for all that I am also organized- when I am making art I am all over the place. Freedom to create without boundaries of worry that 'oh, mustn't get dirty' 'watch the floor, the chair, the clothing'... nope. My students are usually hesitant about getting messy- they wrap themselves up in trash bag-ponchos, aprons that I have from foods classes (which never work. Bib aprons are uncomfortable, run small, and never cover enough of your lap... art is different from cooking- instead of things splashing up on you, they splash down. An apron covering your shirt does you no good at all)

Today, today I am tired. No reason why- I would just like to put on my apron, make some more coffee, stay home and create things. Maybe write a bit for school. Pick some daffodils. Take a nap. Not possible. So today I will go to school, hope someone else has made some coffee, put on my apron and help my kids create things- different roles, much the same.

Visitation

The photo is old- I took it years ago when we lived on the island and I drove to work via Castle Hayne every day. Coffee sign sitting in a field, no rhyme or reason or anything around it to give it context. Love the way the cup is painted, the steam making a question mark- wish now I would of 'acquired' the sign... next time I passed it was ruined and and field dug up in preparation for yet another gas station.... but this has nothing to do with today's story except for the image of the coffee with the question.

Last night I went to bed early. This is normal- I am not a night person (except in the summer when naps can happen at will), and after chores, homework and a bit of studio work I was tucked in by 9. I fall asleep instantly- never have had trouble with that. At 9:24 (I checked the clock, thinking it was much later) I was awakened by a smell. Not just any smell, but the strong lovely unmistakable odor of ground fresh coffee beans. Let's be particular for a moment: *not* a left-over-from-breakfast coffee smell, or a connivance-store stale coffee smell, or a starbucks smell or even a grocery store smell. But the specific smell of dark roasted, oily, high-quality coffee beans that are just ground. Nothing like it. I was instantly wide-awake in anticipation of breakfast/coffee (that is why I checked the clock, hoping it actually was breakfast time)....

Ok. Now, I could dismiss this as a particularly vivid dream (I can smell/taste things in dreams) or some accident of brain chemistry, except for the reaction of the dogs. They share my room at night and are usually about as active as potatoes (unless max is cold and thiefing blankets). But they were all wide awake. Now the odd part- Max was cuddled close to me, trying to disappear into the blankets. (Ok, maybe that isn't so odd- Max is a snuggle puppy)... Ursula was growling deep, and it eventually turned into her 'back-off' bark. (Ok, maybe we could explain that by bad-dog-dreams, or outside noises or whatever)....but one and one make two, and Jezebelle's reaction makes three.

Jezebelle is a bloodhound. She is purebred, a former search dog, has a nose like a spotlight. She wasn't growling or barking or baying like she normally does if there are odd noises- she was smelling. When Belle 'smells' a scent, she is totally focused. Her nose makes this popping noise, her breathing changes, she is perfectly still until she can hone in on the source. She sniffs things all the time, but this scenting is rare. Whatever it was that I was smelling (coffee)
Belle was smelling it to.

After awhile- long enough for me to visit the bathroom and check the coffeemaker (I knew it was off- I only have coffee in the morning- but I unplugged it just in case)- the smell was abruptly gone. Another odd thing is that while I was checking things, the dogs stayed firmly in the bedroom (they usually follow me about) and I swear Belle did not move a muscle (except nose muscles? do dogs *have* nose muscles?) As soon as the smell faded, everyone settled down, went back to sleep- Max returned to his cave under the bed, Belle her nest, Bear her usual sleeping position of 'bear-skin rug' in the middle of the floor.

I tried to think about who I know that is associated with coffee- the only person is Ms. Ball (Melissa) but not this type of coffee. She has her own delightful coffee blend that smells of nutmeg and cinnamon- very distinct. Everyone else I know just drinks normal coffee, and in a normal way. I don't know what this was about, or how to explain it, but it has stuck with me. It wasn't a particularly vivid dream- the coffeemaker was unplugged this morning. I suppose it was just a spirit passing by, stopping to share a cuppa joe....

Mirror, Mirror

Granny Wrye's mirror. Green mother-of-pearl, tortoise shell, brass. More-or-less. Illusion.

I come from a family of beautiful women. We may not realize that always, for our beauty is unconventional- we are not the thin refined blonds or the athletic soccer moms. We are different, memorable, unique. Sometimes we suffer from the lack of self-confidence that comes with our culture, but that does not change the core fact that we are beautiful- all of us-

What is beauty? I am not talking about the 'beautiful personality' here, I am talking about raw physical beauty. It is strength and confidence- it is different from being sexy or cute or a hottie. (though at different stages of our lives, we have been all of those things- if you doubt, look at photos of Sue and Barbie in their mini-dresses! Hotties!!!) Mother and Granny were possessed of a regal beauty- I don't know if it was their age- we rarely get to see our Mother's during their 'hottie' stage- but no one could hold a candle to them when they swept into a place. Heads turned, doors opened, they were always remembered.

My sisters are beautiful, and I am not just saying that because they are my sisters. Although I haven't seen them for awhile, I notice things. The way their husbands look at them, the way they move and laugh, the magic of Sue's eyes, the grace of her gestures. She is a cat in human form- mysterious, exotic, knowing. Barbie's smile and amazing legs and figure. (If anyone needs to wear more short skirts, it's her!). The enduring elegance of our Mother, her daring to keep her hair long and natural, her care with perfect grooming.

I am beautiful to, in a different way. I am animated and natural- I smile lots, and am comfortable in my own skin, my own shape, my own form. I know how to play. Like everyone else, sometimes I wish I was thinner, younger, more Hollywood- but that is an illusion. I doubt that would make me happy, because I am happy being me. I refuse to enslave myself to illusion- illusions are hollow and hard to maintain, they are a set of rules and restrictions that rob you of yourself.

What it all comes back around to is the way you cast yourself on the world. You can spend your life 'trying harder' or 'maintaining', or you can spend your life living. When you are alive, you are radiant- you are the flame that draws the moths, the flame that casts the shadows. The shadows are illusion- the flame eternal.

Little Birds

My kitchen window is home to a flock of little glass birds. Mother collected them over the years during our trips down to the glass factories. The three colored birds are from Westmoreland, the two small clear birds are from somewhere else.

Many of these birds are missing their long tails, beak tips, wing tips, but I love them none-the-less. The two little clear birds have been the stars of several wedding cakes- including my own- they make an unusual topper nested among flowers, vines.

I remember the trips down to the glass factories- we most always took the tour, seeing how the glass was melted, colored, pressed. The huge show rooms full of plate, delicate glasses, and the colorful animals that were my favorites. I still have a few other pieces of the colored glass- a pink bowl, three heavy goblets I bought on our last trip to the factory in Jeanette, a blue bull dog and an owl with paste diamond eyes. A rare lamp and pitcher that is Fostoria. Suzy has the milk glass- creamy white, nested chickens, woven and hobnail. Barbie has the glass apples that came from everywhere- all little bits of alchemy, fire and sand, color, light and memory.

Monster!

I made this in class the other day for an example of a security object. I also made a more traditional pillow with a moth on it, but I love the monster best- this is a keeper.

Monster just happened. I wanted to show how to make an irregular shaped pillow, so I drew a blob for starters... I was going to make the hair out of yarn or roving but then I tried shredded cloth on a whim. I ended up knotting the cloth, resulting in a) what grendel's hair would look like with short dreadlocks b) looking like me with short hair- exactly why I don't cut it. But it's quite stylish on a monster!

Drawings, swirls, a big button I found in the Wal-mart parking lot, a little green button I had forever. Perfectly friendly, this monster.

Of course, Bad-Bear wanted to play with it- but I wouldn't let her. So instead she somehow ninja'ed down this lovely little heart shaped charm mojo I had made for a student...that I had stayed up until 12 last night working on (a record for me! but then, I did manage a nap earlier)... I don't know how bear got a hold of it. It was finished, drying and on the top shelf of the bookcase (beyond even extendo-bear). But, like I said, she has magic ninja powers. And LOVES to 'sculpt', 'paint', 'read', 'color', and apparently 'alter' my art projects. The little mojo was chewed and scattered all over the bedroom when I woke up.

Somehow, that doesn't matter to much. The mojo magic was in the making- it is over and there is no need to make another one. Every artist knows that destruction is creations best friend- you cannot have one without the other. Sometimes the karma of art is creation in order to be destroyed, permitting a cleansing and restoration of natural balance. Native Americans knew this. Most cultures practice this, and it is what separates aesthetic art (the type that lives forever in a museum) from...what to call it... 'practical' art (the art that is created to do something, with a finite purpose in mind). Sometimes we forget that art is not supposed to last forever, that it can wear out, fall apart, let go. That sometimes the life of creations is short, and that can be terribly sad, but it clears room for the new. Fresh air, open windows, wind blowing through your soul.

To Much Information!

Back in the day, "Aunt Flow" came to visit, or you "Fell off the Roof".... now there seems to be a lack of feminine code words and my students happily announce "I needa tampon!" to the class and carry them openly in their pencil pouches... of course, they really haven't a choice because they aren't allowed purses or backpacks in class, and all containers have to be clear.... just in case they might have explosives.

Anyhoo, teachers have no such luck. And I still have that bit of modesty that prevents me from even doing so much as taking my purse to the bathroom. Which is not as easy as it sounds- said purse is in the noisy filing cabinet and has every key in the universe attached to it and the bathroom is way down the hall.... as far as taking a smaller pencil-type bag, unlike the student bathrooms the teacher bathroom has no ledges. Just the toilet, a wall sink and a *sloping* machine that spits out paper towels whenever you are near it...so it is either the floor or trying to clench the bag under your chin while you negotiate everything else. I'm not that coordinated and the bag or (god forbid) my skirt ends up in the toilet. vargh.

With ninja like stealth we females have developed the technique of sliding the tampon out of the purse and up our sleeve, proceeding to the bathroom and taking care of whatever. Unless (like yesterday) you get trapped in the hall by the principal and the new-prospective-teacher that is touring. All goes well into you have to shake hands...and it's up the right sleeve.... deep breath, manages just fine until the handshake is over then- in a fit of exuberance the hand-shaking arm swings back at just the right speed to launch the tampon out where it falls out, skitters rapidly across the floor and hits a male students shoe. Who thereby exclaims "What the hell?" while everyone pretends not to notice.

As the principal and the prospective disappear down the hall, you hear the words "and that would be our art teacher".......

Lassie

It is time for our class on security objects in crafts, and that means I get to take Lassie to school with me! Yay!

I love Lassie still, even though Lassie is over 40 years old and frequently mistaken for a opossum... I fell in love with her at first sight long ago. She was in the window of a store in San Luis Obispo CA. and mum, granny wrye and I would go by often to 'visit' her. There was another Lassie there- a brown one- but I loved the gray.

She was not so disheveled then- her fur was long and silky, she had a collar with a little plastic brush attached to it. I was head-over-heels in love with her...I was only four but I knew magic when I saw it. Mum gave her to me for my fifth birthday- I don't remember the birthday, but I know I never let Lassie go for years. I slept with her snuggled close every night for years. She went on all my travels, to college, to California and back. She was there for every heart break, she supported my head when I was having Grendel. (She was just the perfect sausage shape to fit behind my neck...)

The collar was the first to go. Then I lost the brush. Mum replaced the collar with the one Lassie still wears- it's a gold and jewel toned bit of trim that I loved. Eventually Lassie's fur became matted beyond hope and the sawdust started showing through the fabric of her paws. Her nose disappeared and ear wires poked through. One eye has vanished... but I love her still. She sits in splendor on a stack of quilts on top of the old white amore in my room. Sometimes, I still hold her close- comfort is a thing we never outgrow.

Full Circle

At the auction on Saturday, there was assorted odds and ends of school furniture. Having my fill of school furniture, I didn't pay much attention to it- I was focused on my newspaper boxes and the dog-fur-rug.

When I went to pick up the newspaper boxes the next day, I spotted this desk. Long ago- 13 years ago- a student of mine (Jim- Ms Ball- what was Jim's last name???) had painted this my first year teaching. One of the auction fellows said that it had been left behind and that if Ada said ok, I could keep it..... so home it came. Now it's back in my classroom and the kids love it, love the story about me finding it again. We call it the "Lassie of Desks".

In all my years I never dreamed of being a teacher (except nightmares! I *HATED* school until college. Not the classes so much, just being socially awkward and anxious) I wanted to be a marine biologist.... but there was the can't-pass-college-chemistry thing in the way. I ended up teaching because 1). I am good at art, but living off art is very, very hard- sucks all the joy right out of it 2). I realized that my husband was never going to grow up, that we had a child and *someone* needed to support the family 3). I applied for one teaching job. Just one. Because they had a picture of the beach on the table at the job fair....I got the call before I made it home from the interview- and here I am.

I never thought I would love it. I do. Which doesn't mean I don't get tired and cranky and frustrated and have fantasies where I only teach online so that I can wear my yoga pants and drink coffee all day.... Last year/ this past fall I was suffering from extreme burnout, but I stuck with it. I'm glad I did because I have fallen back in love with it (except the AP class. Love the kids, hate the testing) Someday I might move on to teach at a college or university or online in pajamas, but for right now the bloom is on the rose.

Better Than Chocolate!

Is the Valentines box of Ticonderoga pencils! (Thank-you Ms. Ball!) These are the best colored pencils ever- they are smooth and creamy, hard to break, easy to sharpen and have lovely, lovely colors. This is the 'big box' of 48....

What makes this so special is that they are very, very hard to find. Many years ago I acquired a box of 12 as a sample at an art conference (back when they used to give away more than hard candy and catalogues). I fell instantly, madly, in love with them. Not being a colored pencil person, this opened a whole new media to me- no more struggling with the 'crapola' or spending the house payment to buy prismacolors that break instantly.... oh the joy!

The next year, I treated myself to the box of 24. Bliss! I was happy coloring away.... they began to wear out, get shorter, the box was appropriated by the monster for a school project.... time to replace them. THEY WERE NO WHERE TO BE FOUND! Sure, they were *listed* in the art supply catalogues, but that was just a cruel tease.... they were 'out of stock', 'discontinued', 'no longer available'....and other words of doom. I was forced to conserve the nubby remains of my original 24. Saving them for 'special' projects. Growling whenever a student glanced their way. Hiding them from the monster. (Can I take them to SCAD with me? NO! It's prismacolor for you! bahahaha) .... for years we searched the internet and shady art supply stores in the bad sections of town (seriously) for any remaining packs. They where no where to be found.

Then JOY! HAPPINESS! Ms. Ball found them at a 'secret source' (some things we *don't* share with the world. Where to acquire these limited sticks of magic is privileged information) and surprised me with the 48! Of course, right now I simply admire them all neat in their box....keep them put up, 'saving' them until later. (I still have a few nubbs left). Remember when we cleaned out Auntie Lou's stuff and there were zillions of slips still in boxes, brand new, saved for later? That will be me, except my closets will be full of colored pencils.....

Day of Complex Oddities

Daffodils, and this morning it is snowing. I was planning to take today off- a meeting at ECU with the professor that I'm the teaching assistant for, and the design prof that I had last semester- and I apparently have the flu. Or food poisoning. Or something that causes me to live in close proximity to the bathroom, have an anti-fever, and make very loud odd bodily noises. (To much information! It's tummy grumbles, but if they were made by the worlds largest bear)... an anti-fever is what happens when I am sick, I don't get hot I get cold. Right now my temp was 96.8 even though I am bundled up within an inch of my nose.... I need a snuggie!

So, anyway- my professor is leaving for some professor-thing that involves traveling about France and Italy for quite awhile, so it is rather critical that I attend this meeting... I need to know what all needs done while she is gone. As for the other one, I have papers to sign so my work can be displayed on the ECU website (yay!)....and it's snowing. and I have to get to school, make the sub-plans, drop off all the books and the desk I acquired at the auction (and I've misplaced my school keys)....we are all supposed to go out to lunch, but... I'm not exactly the best lunch-type company at the moment. and it's a two hour drive from school....without a lot of bathrooms en route. (I feel fine, just very cold/loud/moving quickly at appropriate times...and whiny. I whine when I'm not functioning well...) bleah. I'll figure it out.

In the meantime, there are daffodils in my bird bottle to cheer the day. Daffodils are blooming everywhere (hopefully the snow won't turn them all into mush). I love daffodils- the way they smell, that they dry so beautifully keeping their color and shape. I know of a field that is full of daffodils- I suppose once upon a time there was a house there- and I pick them shamelessly. I have them in my kitchen window, my bathroom, and a big vase full with bridal wreath. Lovely.

The blue bird bottle was a gift from Lily- a student- long ago. It belonged to her mother, and was originally an Avon bottle I think. The color is dark blue, but it is an odd dusky blue, not the cobalt found with usual bottles. The background is something I'm working on- a monopoly board painted and covered with Joss paper. Not sure what it is going to turn out like, but it will be magic goodness.

Magic Carpet

I love a bargain...and oriental carpets...and when the two are combined: Magic Carpet!!! This picture doesn't do it justice- it is bright blue and red, cleaned up quite nicely and is just the size for in Grendel's room now, suitable for a dorm room or an apartment later. It is not worn, or stained or anything- it just had lots of fiber on it. Originally I thought it was dog hair, and kept calling it 'dog hair carpet' but after examining it, I realized that it was not dog hair but polyfill- the stuff that is in comforters and pillows. All I can say is someone must of burst a pillow when moving.....

Magic Carpet came from the auction in Wallace, was one of the last items sold last night, and cost me all of 5 dollars. YAY! (I also bought 2 newspaper vending boxes...but that's another story...)

Valentines~

Another image from my kitchen, the heart of the home. I think the picture once belonged to Granny Wrye~ the young woman resembles her and I like to think that is what it was like when she and Poppy were courting. Graceful elegant clothes, a parasol in the spring, exquisite manners. Romance.

Our family was always romantic. My parents told each other they loved each other, held hands, kissed under the mistletoe. Flowers and chocolates (dark caramels), notes under the coffee cup every morning. Cards and presents, Daddy singing- but more than that the doing things together. I remember my parents going for endless rides just to look at the beauty of world, claiming a mountain for their own, dressing up to go out to dinner. Sitting on the porch talking for hours. Walking in the garden, pointing out every new growth, finding every bunny or bird that visited. Winter evenings around the table that was lit by candles or oil lamps.

No, things were not always perfect- of course not. But that cultivation of Romance, of viewing not only each other but the world through Romantic eyes left a lasting impression. I believe in the ultimate beauty of the world, the goodness of things and people, the ability of every one of us to work the magic needed to make life special. That love is something filled with kindness and joy and the happiness of just being. That it is every ones right to love and be loved with freedom and care and grace. I love my place in the world, and I love that you are in it.

La Bota!

"You keep saying you've got something for me.

something you call love, but confess.

You've been messin' where you shouldn't have been a messin'and now someone else is gettin' all your best.

These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do

one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

You keep lying, when you oughta be truthin'

and you keep losin' when you oughta not bet.

You keep samin' when you oughta be changin'.

Now what's right is right, but you ain't been right yet.

These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do

one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you.

You keep playin' where you shouldn't be playin

and you keep thinkin' that you´ll never get burnt.

Ha! I just found me a brand new box of matches yeah

and what he know you ain't HAD time to learn.

Are you ready boots? Start walkin'!"

This is my anti-valentine mojo that I made last night because I was/am so angry.

The mojo recipe is:

1 heart shaped box painted gunmetal (representing steel-like resolve/coldness)

interior has black salt/ black pepper (repelling)

burnt matches (the fire is OUT)

'La Bota' from my lotteria card collection (Giving the boot- go away),

juniper berries (strength/resolve in matters of the heart)

Broken mirrors (the back is also covered with broken mirrors- no, I didn't break them- I just collect such things)

the hanger has two metal beads that spell 'NO'.

A 'certain person' cannot grasp the message that 'these boots' walked away months ago, and no amount of anything is going to get them to walk back. Over and done, son.

Money Kitty

My Lucky Money Kitty- and some wind-up sushi. (mmm love sushi! mmmm) Money kitty is from Japan, by way of Southport...there used to be the most wonderful shop full of Asian imported things there. We all loved going there, and I was casual friends with the owners. Then they had to close the shop- reopened in Myrtle Beach- and I ended up moving way out here. Out here is where I acquired the wind up sushi oddly enough. Our local 'Small-mart' has the strangest things.

Money and I are not pals. We are in constant equilibrium that balances right around zero. Seriously, I do manage to pay all my bills on time. I live frugally- no cable tv, no cell phone, tumble down house, older car... I occasionally buy art supplies or the odd thing at the auction, but that means rarely spending over ten dollars and usually it's a useful something. Or a curious something. My clothes have been around forever, with the exception of my new rainbows (love, love, love the rainbows. worlds most perfect shoe)....So I have enough, but not a lot of extra. And that is ok, except I get all stressy if I think to hard about it. I hate paperwork, taxes, financial aid forms, balancing my accounts and all that. Every time I save we have a disaster of some sorts- which is ok, because I have the savings to fix it- but then I have to start over and that is frustrating.

However, I shouldn't be complaining. With the economy as bad as it is, and everyone getting laid off around here, I am glad that I have a stable job. I have tenure, have my pay divided into 12 month allotments now (so we won't be quite so desperate this summer) and don't mind living simply. It's probably not the money to day that I'm really stressy about- I think I'm just tired and need to center. When everything gets spun out of center, I end up tired and stressed and tend to put off recentering things- which is exactly what I need to do in order to feel better. Recentering means: taking care of paperwork, doing the dishes/laundry/misc. chores that I've put off this week (not like me to put things off, but have), complete a biggish task. And I need (argh- this sounds sooooo whiny) what Dr.C calls 'stroking'- just like Max, pet my head and tell me that I'm a "goooooood girl. gooooood girl" {except that Max is a: a dog, b: a boy, c: gender-confused. I am not a dog/boy/or gender confused. thank god for small favors!}

Tranquility NOW!

It has been one of those days. You know, where you just get off on the wrong foot- trying to do something right, but it ends up throwing the whole day off course. End up tired and grouchy and eating fast food (like that is going to help!) and wishing yourself a million miles anywhere-but-here.

Well, it's not *that* bad... I had an essay to finish, so I did that before school. Which ate up my usual email/news/blog routine. Then school was three steps off all day- the tv refused to work, so they switched it out in the middle of class. Another teacher needed a bookworm poster *NOW*. Money to be turned in, a meeting with a parent (just ILP stuff), a huge paperwad fight while I was in the meeting with the parent, mystery marshmallow fluff on the keyboard of the computer....on and on and on.

Check the email at lunch and there is a nasty reminder to file for my financial aid- which means I have to do my taxes, not a problem but the bank sent the interest statement to the wrong address (this property has 2 addresses but only 1 mailbox) so it ended up back at the bank and they resent it....but it isn't here yet. I have got to get it, do the taxes, get it over with. Then more school stuff- this time college- discussion board discussions, mostly good but one that I didn't cite enough policy (reading governmental policy makes me want to rip my eyes out with toothpicks. That's why I'm an anarchist)...and sending Valentines- yes, Valentines- to my TA art appreciation class as reminders to get off their butts and post their discussion board assignments. I really do love work-school and school-school, but sometimes it would be nice to crawl under a rock and hibernate until...oh, let's say....mid June.

Ok. Enough of the ranting- but I do feel better. Ranting and french fries always do the trick. The fountain I acquired years ago when the school first opened- it used to be a proper fountain with water, quite nice. Soothing. Then they banned water. (Along with carpet, live plants, pets and other nice things.... so goodbye turtles, goodbye Aloe, goodbye throw-rug) Anyhoo, the fountain I kept- it's very Zen- and placed the brass bowl on top. I know that we have had that brass bowl forever- its partner is a brass lidded incense holder- I remember playing with them as a child. Mum had them on the Green bookcase at one point.... Now the bowl is filled with frosted red glass and sea salt, balanced on top a 'Salmon of Wisdom" carved out of buffalo horn. Right this moment, I could use a little wisdom, a long soak in a sea-salt bath and a few more fries.

Emery

Yesterday morning I was working in my office when I heard a sound that I had not heard in years. skritchy scratch, skritchy scratch, skritchy-skritchy-skritchy. I followed my ears, and there was my intern, Lesley, busy at work with her nails and emery board. (That is who is in the photo- Lesley)

It was amazing- the minute I heard that sound I thought of Mother. She always has the best-groomed sensible nails in 7 counties. Emery boards are tucked away in every nook and cranny, in the tissue box, behind the ledge of the book shelf, in her purse, on the shelf of the end table, tucked into her hose. Beware, hangnails of the universe! You have no hope!

Seriously, her nails are always perfect- neatly trimmed, filed, buffed, sparkling clean, cuticles tucked away, sometimes clear polish. No colored polish, fake nails or (god forbid) air-brushed designs with sparkly rhinestones here. And she always took care of every one's nails, taught us all how to maintain them properly and tastefully. Barbie always has beautiful nails.

Not so much me. I don't own an emery board, or anything else except some copper polish that I have literally had for years- and that is for my toenails in the summer. I have never had a manicure, or a pedicure or anykindacure.... my nails are strong, sensibly short but that's about it. They are uneven, usually dirty with paint/charcoal/plaster/art crap under the nails, and if I get a hang nail I just tear it off, smooth it as best I can against my jeans, and carry on.

I don't bite my nails. That is one of the things that drives me nuts when other people do it- I am to polite to say anything so I just glare and look for something to give them to hold. (Theory being, if they are holding on to something- a cookie, a book, a wet brush- they can't be gnawing away. ew)

I do need to clip the dogs toenails again...time for the return of Torquemada!

Early Spring

The weather warmed over the weekend- yesterday was beautiful and I spent it cleaning, doing homework. This morning I noticed that the forsythia had began to bloom- the first of the spring bushes. It was absolutely glowing in the early morning, beautiful.

I remember spring in Pennsylvania, and here in the mountains- little hints of gradual color, bits of snow still around. Going for rides in the car to look at the blossoms, hills filled with apple trees and dogwood.

Beautiful, gradual and cold still~

Here it is different. Once the forsythia has begun everything else will burst out in a riot of color. The dogwoods (I have seven trees), the hot pink azaleas, the wisteria that climbs and creeps over everything. The daffodils that have already sprouted in their neat rows. Bridal bush with it's tiny white flowers, sweet smelling mock-orange, and my favorite Lady Baltimore that climbs all over my bedroom window. Dozens and dozens of blossoms everywhere you look.

It is supposed to stay warm and sunny all the week- I wish I could stay home and play in the yarden. I do need to clip bushes, rake and mow... truth is, I am *not* a garden guru. I love to look at plants, name them and know their properties, but I haven't the rapport with them I do with animals. But I'll photograph them, and press them and dry them, write about them in my plant journals, do watercolor paintings that look like something from long ago.

Hair

This is my hair. I am having hair-issues at the moment. In the picture, it is not as gray as I think it is- but I do believe that the camera lies- along with the light in the studio. I usually dye my hair, but I haven't since early November. Lack of time, money, initiative, desire, whatever- I just don't feel like doing it. So I don't. Even though it is gray and streaky and the kids tease me. (I just tell them that they are the reason for the gray....)

I always liked the color of my hair, being a redhead is nice. I just wish the rest of it was more predictable. Some times it curls like crazy and looks fantastic- some times it looks like tumbleweed. Some times it just goes all limp and weird. And I *hate* my forehead. I try to keep bangs, but I have this cowlick that pushes them to the side, leaving just one curl in the middle. Which is cute when you are five, stupid when you are 45.

Ok- while I am ranting about hair, lets move on to haircuts. White people can't cut curly hair. They wet it down, comb it out straight, cut it and pretend it's fine. When it drys it shrinks by a bazillion inches and if you don't cut with the curl it gets all squirrley. Black people can cut curly hair- but they are expensive. Way to expensive. And because they have mad skills they never work at those cheapy places in walmart. So I let it grow.

I did cut it off once- it was short and, though other women loved it, men didn't like it and I ended up hating it. Short hair is just not me. At all. Never doing that again.

In a perfect world I would have the following: a gay man to dye my hair (they do a fantastic job. they pay attention and are detail oriented.) a black lady to cut it, and magic to keep it curly just so. In the meantime, there are hairpins and little butterfly clips that keep it contained. And I'm kinda curious about what it would look like if I just let all the color grow/wash out. Vision of letting it grow, letting it go to whatever color is natural, then figuring out something fantastic to do with it. Or I could just cut Grendel's hair off and make one kick-butt weave.

Beautiful-Useful

I like beautiful, useful things. Once, this ball of yarn was a beautiful, useful thing- a shawl of linen and cotton, hand crocheted and brought back as a gift from Ireland. I loved it- but in the wrong way, and it became a symbol of attachment. What Dr. C calls 'golden handcuffs' where you are lured into acceptance through the illusion of the lovely.

Like a dog chained with a silver chain, beautiful but captive.

So, after thinking long and hard, becoming so wound up that all I did this past week was dream and break out in hives, I devised a ritual to symbolically break those golden handcuffs. I sat down last night and unravelled the shawl. It took about an hour, and the lint tricked the allergies off, but in a mixture of sneezing and weeping it was done. Undone, the threads were curly, tangled, looked like ramen noodles.

I collected the other gifts- earrings of gold, sapphire, diamond, the silver triskel bracelet, the gold shamrock, the claddagh ring that symbolized all I thought I wanted. I wrapped these together in soft grey flannel, then wove the yarn around it, untangling as I could- oddly enough, the yarn at the heart of the ball is badly tangled, straightens out only near the end. It is done.

It is not my nature to destroy the beautiful, useful- but sometimes creation and growth can only come after destruction. Every small thing requires sacrifice, freedom is no small thing.

Swimcap

I am soooooooo ready for summer. Or spring. Or anything not cold-gray-wet. Beach time~

The swimcap head lives in the kitchen, beautiful blue glass head that I love so- the dark cobalt color, darker than all the other blue glass I have around. On top is an old swimcap that I found in a vintage-junk store in Southport. It is covered in pressed white roses, I remember other swimcaps that were plain white skullcaps, or covered with brillant floppy flowers.

Mum always wore a swimcap to protect her ears. Some times I would wear one, and for one set of swimming lessons we were required to wear them- I hated the way the strap dug into my face. They never seemed to fit right, tons of hair that would struggle to push it right off.

I always loved the water. I did not like swimming laps, races or opening my eyes under it, and I really, really dislike cold water. But I love the aqua glow of pools, diving and surfacing, swimming underwater like a fish. Floating lazy on the top, watching the sky. I am a decent swimmer, though way out of practice. It is odd that here in a coastal area there are NO swimming pools, no swim lessons, no Y in our county. Back in Johnstown it was Bethco in the summer, the Y in the winter. Here it is the beach or the freshwater lake (no thank-you. Snakes-n-gators-n-possible hog lagoon run off). Few of the kids actually *swim* at the beach unless they are surfers- they just splash around or use floats.

Grendel learned to swim early. Up in the mountains they started taking them to the pool at ASU when he was in pre-school, and he had lessons every year. At the beach I was always careful to watch him when he was little, but he is a good swimmer. Kyle and Charlie girl are good swimmers- especially Charlie- but most of Grendel's other friends didn't know how to swim at all. Ursula is a great swimmer- came from being raised in the puppy pool- and Luna likes to sit in the shower while it's on.....

Grendel-monster

Grendel-monster voodoo doll I made (sometime?) last year. It actually looks like him in an odd way- he is skinny, has super long hair (red not gray tho!) glasses....sometimes wears a utility kilt, is prone to leaping about unexpectedly. Anyway, I miss him. And not just cause he does the dishes and occasionally cooks dinner, takes care of the dogs and other boy-type chores.

He is thinking of transferring to UAT in Arizona- it was his first choice originally, but we thought Arizona was a bit far. Arizona *is* a bit far but I was younger when I moved across country to California by myself. They have more of a computer/programming based program than SCAD does, and he would like to go in that direction. They also offer courses on the psychology of games, which is another thing he might be interested in.... but he'll have to get used to not hauling all his stuff back and forth every time he comes home.

So, if all goes well, it will mean quite the road trip this summer. Actually, it will work out ok- I can merrily take advantage of my family again- here to T's house in Alabama, there to Mother's or Sue's around Dallas, then to Phoenix. Actually, UAT is in Tempe, but Tempe is Phoenix. Overnight in Phoenix, then back again. Unless I win the lottery which means I can go on to California or down to Mexico- both big want-to want-to destinations for me!

Isn't really all about me tho, it is about the monster and what he wants to do. UAT does offer online courses which means he could stay at home and do it, but I am a big believer in 'leaving the nest, learning to fly' so off he goes. And he is ok with that- Pender county is not exactly the hot spot of the Carolina's...... unless you like pigs-n-turkeys and turkeys can't fly.

Not Bob

This is NotBob. Actually, the post is late today because this morning I thought, "Hey! Today would be a great day to take a picture of Bob!".

Bob is a longhorn cow skull Mum bought me for Early Christmas when we went to San Antonio a while back. Bob lives in the Art room at school, and is the official studio mascot. Sometimes he wears hats, a Rudolph nose, flower leis, graduation caps etc. Anyway-

It snowed this morning, and the kids were all excited. We made origami in class, then I was busy grading my ECU class, the heater broke (our school heater only works when it feels like it) so I came home early. Sat down and realised that I did not take a photo of Bob.....so..... NotBob.

NotBob hangs above my computer in the studio- Grendel gave it to me this year for early Christmas, he is a clock- the tongue is the pendulum but the hands have never progressed beyond 2:40 pm. Which is ok, as that is a nice time of day.

Keys

Grendel lost his mailbox key- somewhere- so he has to pay for a replacement. He has the same problem with keys that I do- we like them, we find them, they flock to us unless they are one that we have to keep track of, then it sneaks away. Or doesn't work.

My car key- the ignition ones- are tricky- if you don't treat them nicely and turn them just so, they refuse to turn and the car won't start. I *know* this is probably a problem with the steering column key lock thing, but this *happens* with every car I've ever had.... and I don't have a bunch of stuff on my car key. Just the key.

House keys- long gone. I have no clue as to where my house key is, for this house. However, I have found the missing keys to the old house on Oak Island, Barbies back door, my ex mother-in-laws old house and my old classroom at Pender. My current school keys- which work when they feel like it- are permanently attached to my bag so I don't lose them.....

As for other keys- I have about 100 stray keys that I have found. Some of them are clustered together in the ring in the picture, others in a dish, others have found their way into art projects and wind chimes. (Keys make lovely wind chimes, if you like wind chimes.) Locking things annoys me but I do it anyway... but with my key luck I have developed quite a good lock-picking ability. After all, I always seem to have an over abundance of hairpins, and what else are you going to do with them?

Ursula's DoggSong

Ursula E-liz-a-beth

She's a bear and she's a horse

Bear-Zill-A!

Playing Puppies

Three Christmas puppies, in a basket- a yellow, black and chocolate lab- Mum and Dad had them and they gave them to Grendel one year. I kept them up for Christmas for many years, then eventually just left them out last year- Jezebelle liked them (I didn't know that she was going to have 12 puppies of her own soon!)

The dogs love these- Ursula and Belle especially love to 'play puppies'. Unlike their other stuffed animals (Scooby-doo, kitty, and poor, poor Rhino) they take very good care of the puppies. They never play tug of war, or shake it, or anything rough- instead they gently carry them from place to place, tuck them into their dog beds, couch pillows, under my covers. Belle's favorite is the yellow lab, Ursula's the chocolate- When Ursula is tired she'll often go get her puppy and curl up for a nap.

What is it that makes these so different from all their other toys? Is it the weight (they are heavier, more like real dogs) or the shape? The night Belle had all of her real puppies, she picked the gold one up by the scruff of it's neck and carried it into her birthing bed. It's hard to believe that was just below a year ago- Ursula is so huge now and it seems like we have had her always~

Laundry

Wicker laundry basket has been around forever~ I seem to remember it all the way back at Headacher, know definitely that it was at the other homes we lived it. I remember it snuggled as part of a set at the base of the stairs at the house on Mino drive... I don't know who has the other one, but this is my treasure!

The handle is broken, but it is still sound and useable, currently it lives in my closet, keeps my dirty clothes safe until wash day. When I was small, we didn't have a washer or dryer, and we would take trips with heaps of laundry to the laundromat in the shopping center. It was on the end by the Lighthouse Deli, next to a dry cleaners. I loved going to the laundromat with mum- I was good at finding stray coins and we almost always made it over to the tiny Westwood branch of the library. I liked the way it smelled- clean and warm- the dry cleaners next door though smelt of plastic and dust, not nearly so nice.

I didn't have my own washer or dryer for many years. I would take Grendel in his baby carrier to the laundry in Boone, time it right to meet with friends there and we would watch cartoons on the tv. (None of us could afford cable, we all liked Ren and Stimpy). Later on the island, Grendel and I would go down to the island laundry (Frankie's) on Sundays. Frankie was an old fellow who lived in the laundry (literally. He lived in a room off the main room, had a cot and a hot plate, a tv and a big fridge in the main laundry) Frankie and his friends were always awake, always getting busted for playing video poker, always had Milwaukee's Best. None of them were allowed to drive anymore, and they had a fleet of motor scooters and golf carts to use for beer runs. They had no riches, but they had friendship, a place to hang out and lived on an island. Life could be worse.