May the Circle Be Unbroken

Up in the mountains there is a different kind of music, a different blend of stories to tell.  They come from different roots, and most of the songs and stories are old ones, and the magic is not so much in that they haven't been told by others, but in the way the teller tells them.  The channeling of the words and the sounds through the person, making it at once unique and universal- old echos in different voices.  Manly Wade Wellman, Orville and Wilbur Hicks, Doc Watson.  Others.  

I don't usually write or truthfully, think much, about celebrities- but Doc died, and I want to think about him and say goodbye.  I learned to love his music when I lived in the mountains- interspersed with the other music I was introduced to (Irish punk, NIN, all sorts of others~)- and through the music rediscovered folktales and discovered murder ballads, which remain a favorite area of study of mine.  I had heard mountain music before, but had not payed much attention to it, lumping it in the category of 'country' and 'Sunday radio'.  Folk music was more familiar, but in the context of artists like Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Gordon Lightfoot.  You know, hippie stuff from the 60's and 70's.

I am finding this surprisingly hard to write- not because I don't have allot to say about the man and his music, but I am word-stuck, and can't quite express what I want.  I've written and deleted because the words sound to 'reportish', or to much about myself, or don't capture at all the spirit that I feel at the moment.  To capture that, listen to the old songs.  Look out at the horizon- and even if they aren't there- imagine the mountains, deep and green and full of secrets.  Think of sight transformed to sound, tractors on high fields, whispers in the pines.  A wooden house with a porch, a blind man with eyes like sky playing the guitar, singing in a voice that cracks with age, but is all the better for it.  Think of summer in the mountains, chicory blooming beside the road, water so clear and so cold that you can't breathe, quilts on the line, nights where a fire would be nice, even though its June.  My heart misses the mountains today, and the music.  Rest in peace, old friend, listen well.

Blue Hydrangeas

The hydrangeas are blooming, huge fluffy clouds of blue and white back on the azalea path. (Well, it used to be the azalea path- now it is seriously overgrown.  Yet another project!)  The hydrangeas bloomed like this the first year I lived here- the summer Mother came to visit (I was late picking her up at the airport, causing stress- I am forever sorry for that...) and we picked them for the pitcher on the mantel.  Their blue matches the shirt in Jack's portrait, and the glaze on the top of the pitcher (a relic from Gordon's store.  The handle broke long ago, which is why I have it, but I love it none the less....and while we are talking, the Jack-dancer figure was a gift from Aunt Gladys, the sun face on it part of an astronomical matryoshka doll that was old...all that is left is half of the sun, and the moon, which sits on the tan vase to one side in the photo).  The hydrangeas in our yarden are the beautiful sky blue color, mixed with creamy white- last year they never quite made it to a true blue, staying more greenish-purplish.  Sammy's (next door) are an amazing deep royal blue....before he renovated that house and moved in I used to sneak over there and pick them.  It was abandoned so no one cared- now though, I respect that it is Sammy's.  (Sammy and the manz had a conversation this weekend- ends up that Sammy knows several members of the family, expressed regrets at not visiting us earlier- we live in what was his Mother's house- but is afraid of doggs.  Sammy is also apparently quite religious and invited us to church, which was politely declined.  He is a nice guy, a bit odd- which fits right in on our road.  Road should be renamed "road of slightly strange people and mysterious farm with invisible horses".)

Sill and all, the weekend was quite nice for me.  I had plans with Grendel for Monday- movies etc- but that is postponed until next Saturday due to lack of gas/funds and just pure laziness.  Instead I took multiple naps (of course), went for a long walk, painted in the sketchbook and tentatively explored ideas for new big paintings, did a wee bit of school work and some writing, managed laundry but not cleaning, sat and watched shows with the manz, including '30 Days' which sparked some really good conversation about religion, church, beliefs and experiences.  The manz is very open minded/ tolerant of everything- which is a good thing. I admit being narrow minded about narrow minds, an irony that is not lost on me.

This morning is very still- the crickets and frogs loud, the air heavy.  Tropical storm is to come in tonight, bringing wind and rain- the second of the year, storm season unusually early and storms forming close to shore. There is a tension in the air that hopefully won't set the kids over the edge today, it is the first day of exams (Hooray!) and I am excited about getting to school, getting the room cleaned up, beginning the end.  I like beginnings, and things to do, and being busy- that moves me along from my natural state of inertia.  I think I will be off to school early this morning so I can get started, I'm in the mood so it is time to capitalize on that.

By-the-way, I did learn that in order to dry hydrangeas and keep their color, cut them and put them in water.  Let the water evaporate naturally and the hydrangeas will slowly dry out- they will fade a bit to a dusty denim blue, but that is a lovely color as well.  If you don't put them in water the color is deeper but the flowers get wilted and 'mushy'- they don't stay all puffy, even if you hang them upside down.  If you cut them to late off the bush they just turn brown... I have the new ones on the mantel and the old dry ones from last summer in the cauldron below, lovely just.

Faith

Hellebore flowers and a copy of a graveyard angel in my new sketchbook- just half of the full spread, one of the first pages.  The new book is going well- I have been working constantly in it, painting mostly and drawing ears which are difficult things to draw.  Disembodied ears are odd looking, recognizable but not, strange bits of folded anatomy.  I am working on learning how to draw people this summer- it is not my strong point though I can manage characters/cartoons or gestures- but not detailed realistic drawings, and I want to learn how to do that technically.  So I am beginning with the ear- which I am obsessed with anyway at the moment- and will move on to other parts, then wholes.  A worthy endeavor.

Hellebore flowers are a kill or a cure, they act beneficially on paralysis, gout and insanity- but can cause vertigo, stupor, death- supposedly one of the causes of the death of Alexander the Great.  They do not grow around here, I suppose it is too hot or they are unfashionable, but they were all over the parks in NYC- blooming in the early spring, even in the snow.  Christmas Roses, though not rose-like at all but rather remind me of dogwood with an extra petal and strange odd colors of black, green, parchment rose.  Unusual plants- a curiosity to paint, to couple with the graveyard angel with wings of lace.

This is a strange season- storms are early, forming off the coast, yet the rain is not as expected.  It falls hard and heavy and strong but then vanishes just as quickly, leaving tumultuous skies, dire warnings on the news and long lines at Walmart.  Other people have the pricklies, not just me- everyone seems on edge, resulting in texts of news of late-night breakups, dramatic mugshots, broken engagements.  On Saturday afternoon a young boy (he was 9) is killed by a stray bullet during a drive-by, not in a far off city, but here in our little town, in a residential neighborhood not that far away.  My moodiness has lifted some, I slept forever again yesterday- but up early this morning after dreaming of huge construction paper towers and balls of clay, and I still feel like I'm dreaming as I write.  It is the re balancing of chaos and order at the end of the year, the transition from school to summer, the fear and excitement of all of us at a change in routine.  As Dr. Mike explained (and Mr. Owens confirmed) I like to be in control, but not be controlled.  And when the two go head to head, I get angry.  Right now that means that I want to control at school- the ordering and cleaning of the environment, the wrapping up of paperwork and projects- but the kids are chaotic, bored, testing the boundaries.  At the same time it is evaluation time for everyone, and administration is 'cracking down' on everything (not just students, but our wearing of 'inappropriate footwear') asserting control themselves- and stuck between the two I get angry and rebel, withdraw- neither of which are productive in the least.  And I *know* this- it happens every year and should be expected- but I always internalize it as my responsibility, an effect that I cause and thus must master.  And the purpose of therapy is, in many ways, to remind us of what we already know- to bring it to the forefront so that we can understand the behavior instead of be consumed by it.  I know that I feel better, calmer after a session- and it is the perspective of the outsider that is valuable, even if they do tell me the same things as my husband, my friends.  The confirmation that reactions and observations are real, valid, and not just something to do.

And so today I write, I've been telling stories already this morning, news and comfort, ideas for art. (I love facebook, I admit- though I just read and 'like' more than I write, today I've been writing as well).  Strange how I have more of a voice in text than in words- it may be my social habits (silly, bossy, shy, aloof at turns) or that listening is work (either repeat it, or I just space out- pretend to understand and make non-committal  noises according to your facial expressions, or whatever oddness I have at the moment that distracts me), or just that this is what I do best, when I am my most real, honest.  Truthfully, I rarely think about who is reading this as I write- I keep in mind that unlike a physical diary it is not private, but I'm ok with that.  I have nothing to hide and like speaking the truth as it is at the moment....and truthfully, I write for myself.  A sounding board, a way to turn thoughts into the physical where they can be dealt with, addressed, remembered.  Long ago I kept 'morning pages' ala Julia Cameron, a physical daily journal, and I have those books still...but I like this better.  Same opening of the gates, but in a format that is more fluid than hand writing for me, and in which I can include images, others- and sharing it keeps me honest.

I don't know why honesty seems to be so important to me right now, but it is.  Not honesty as in 'don't swipe the last doughnut in the box then pretend you don't know what happened to it' but honesty as in addressing what I really think and feel without worrying that it will seem overly sugary sweet, or vainglorious, or obsessive or whatever.  Just saying it, for whomever chooses to listen, faith in my words to keep me real.

The Right Choice

Final collage from one of my art 1 students- and fair good advice.  Yesterday I channeled my upset into starting to clean and organize the school studio, but that was interrupted by a series of malfunctioning alarms that required evacuation, fire trucks and many minutes outside several times during the day.  Wiring malfunction- but they still had to have us all get outside and do the checks- better safe than sorry, and it actually was ok with me.  (Once again the coincidence that whenever I am raging, electronics of all sorts go haywire.  Related? Not?  have to admit that it is a bit odd- ) so basically I then gave up, worked in the new sketchbook some, cut some labels and just said 'yes' whenever anyone asked me a question.  And that was ok.  Then home for a long nap, hotdogs and beans, several episodes of 'Deadly Women' and a strawberry bomb.  Bedtime again, and sleeping under the electric blanket, safe and warm.

This morning I woke up with a bit of irritation again- I don't know why I am so prickly lately, but today is Dr. Mike day and I will at least talk it out somewhat- but that was alleviated by the good news of a camera! New to me, and a Kodak, not a DSL but a very good point-and-shoot that is decidedly a step up.  It just needs a few basic things- memory card and I will probably have to get a cord/back-up battery (it uses different types than my Canon)- and we shall be good to go.  A huge thanks for the generosity of others!  Not only is a good camera critical to my assorted jobs, but it is also how I record the world more and more- I love taking photos- they become small stories to save for later, documents of ideas, research, everything.  One of my favorite arts, and something I do not want to do without.  Again- thank-you!

Today is a short day- I leave at 1:30 to go to Wilmington. Relocating George to Grendel's apartment, seeing Dr. Mike (I need to- way to much irritability lately), doing Grendel stuff- maybe even a movie (we will probably compromise on the Avengers unless he has seen it- then I will lobby for Dark Shadows).  Charles was thinking of going along but has to work on call- he was out last night at 2 changing a tire and is sleeping on the sofa at the moment. I need to get myself together and off to school, art work to return, paperwork to endlessly do- and cleaning of course.  Then a bit of an adventure, a break- followed by a long weekend for thinking and doing and resting and (hopefully) indulging in a Game of Thrones marathon- especially if it gets rainy.....

Burn

I don't know why, but today is one of those days that I woke up angry, ready to burn- just an overall tension and irritability of mood, a slight headache and racing of the heart.  Trigger- if I could I would stay home today and do something moderately violent like cutting down bushes or tossing trash.  I don't know where this came from exactly, other than a slow irritation building up with the lack of responsibility of others.  Picking up the messes at school, the kids being a bit to needy at the moment (scissors?  you seriously can't find the scissors? you have had this class for almost 18weeks and you still have no clue where the scissors are. Seriously?), money of course- always money.  Root of all evil indeed, nothing- absolutely nothing- stresses me out more and serves to underlay all of the other tensions.

And it is the end of the year and there is not much left to do.  Trying to review for finals, complete final projects, clean the studio, deal with neediness and distractions and cling and kids not wanting to work...and I have stuff to get done.  If I just had a day alone in there to straighten and organize I would feel better- if I could just discipline myself to manage our money better, find a way to make more, be responsible- if I could just....  I could go down that road forever.  Truth is though, I know it is just the cycles of the year, the transition time, the stress that comes with change- but I don't know how to place all this negative energy today.  I can't afford to stay home, have things to do, art to drop off at other schools (another responsibility burn), paper work upon paperwork to fill out.  Spontaneous combustion.

I suppose it is good though that I have school today because I can channel this energy into cleaning and sorting- this is not a day for relaxing or drifting on the porch or making art- or doing paperwork that involves careful attention to detail.  I would rush through, no thought or positivism- and that would echo down through everything. Which is also why I want to avoid school in a way- negative vibes breed negative vibes. Same thing at home, or anywhere.  I need the distraction of a story- if I was free from responsibility and had some spare cash, I might immerse myself in a movie- the quite dark theater where you are surrounded by the story- it's very different than watching at home, and sometimes I need that.  And not a happy movie- I am not fond of comedies and romances, but rather something with tension and release.  Chernobyl Diaries.  Or even Dark Shadows, or the Avengers.... would really like to see the Woman in Black, which is not playing in the area.  Something darkish to get all this adrenaline out.  A really loud banging thunderstorm would work as well- in fact, that is what I am feeling like- when everything is all humid and dark right before the lightning bursts and the thunder and the hard heavy rain that washes away all the tightness in the air.

Rusty Bucket

Bucket lists are all over the place- people make them as 'things to do before I die'...but I'm not planning on dying any time soon...with my genes I will be 100+ some, still paying off student loans, and happy to still be here and finding adventures.  (My back up retirement plan is to rob a bank- either I will get away with it and have no money troubles, or I will go to jail- not the most aesthetic place but free food/shelter/medical for what it's worth.  And I bet they will let me 'teach something') ...Seriously though, I am going to make a bucket list for summer.  Not a 'to-do' list so much, filled with chores and practicable sensible things- I have enough of those- but a list of fun things that I want to do, adventures that I want to have, positive, possibly impractical but do-it-non-the-less type things.  I am tired of chores and tasks and getting cranky at school and always being the responsible one who cleans up messes (huge piles of lumber @ school, dishes in the workroom sink, student's whose projects are not formatted correctly or need a 'last minute favor')...I want to have some fun, set some goals- some stars- to add to my personal sky.  So here goes~

This Summer I am Going To:

1.  Have an adventure with the Manz.  Not just the travelling to Texas, but adventures along the way, unexpected delights, and we are going to find some treasures.

2.  Have long sit-down early-morning coffee talks with my Mother, my Sisters and Melissa.  Just sitting and drinking and telling stories and memories.  No rushes, no hurries, no deadlines or getting to work or specific agenda....just the slow drift of conversation.

3. Go to the beach by myself- no doggs even- and hunt for treasures as long as I want to.  And sit in the sun and read and paint and draw...and not give a good goddamn about how I look in a swimsuit.

4.  Take Mr. Owens to the beach (even if I have to drag him)- we have never been there together, and I want to kiss him by the sea.

5.  Go to the mountains for the Highland games- it is a tradition, but also a time capsule: Boy's birthdays, bagpipes from other games long ago, the high green land where I used to live.

6. Paint on my porch- try new things, old things, not worry about if anyone would want it- just do what I wish, paint for myself, for fun, for no reason at all.

7. Movies with the boy.  Dark cool theater on hot summer days, candy smuggled in from World Market, talking while we wait.  Being silly.

8. Rescue the elephant if it is still there.

9.  The rest I will make up as I go along- but it will involve reading and naps, blender drinks and dogg walks, taking lots of pictures and writing when I want to.  Just relaxing, letting it go, letting it be- having fun. No worries, be happy, relax into myself- spend easy time with people I love, doing what I love, finding what I need.  I can't wait!

Btw: this is my 500th post on this blog- but whose counting as long as we are having fun!  Thank-you for joining me!

Texas!

WOOHOO!  We are Texas bound in June!  I'm so excited- we missed the trip last year, and I always put off confirming things until I am *certain* they are going to happen.  Last night Tommy Podlucky (yes, I still call him that!) called Charles to talk the plan out- Tom is wise in knowing that phones and some plans are best left to the 'men folks'.  They talked and figured things out and we pulled out the calendar and set the dates.  My last day of school is the 13th., Father's day is the 17th, so leaving for Texas on the 18th- spending the night in Vicksburg probably- on to Mother's for the 19th.  We will be with Mother for the 20th, 21st- drive down to Sue's the evening of the 22 (I think that's the plan- or the next Saturday morning- depends), spend a night or so at Deer Ridge, then to Shreveport with Tom and Sue on the 24th, start the drive home on the 25th.  (Which may or may not be straight through- it depends on what we want to do!).  So that gives us 3 nights at Mother's, 2 nights at Sue's, and 2 on the road.  Not bad- hopefully not to much of 'us' for anyone (including ourselves!) and everything will work out for the best.  We are flexible though- so let us know if that doesn't suit!  (Here I go, assuming that everyone reads the blog- but that's ok- it's how I let you know what is up with us for really real).

I am incredibly excited- did I mention that a billion times already?  I haven't seen Mother for over a year, and I can't wait to talk to her, just hang out and drink coffee, get some advice and listen to stories- show her some of the things I have been making, let Charles pamper her a bit and charm all the ladies with his voice and amazing beard.  I can't wait to go out to Deer Ridge and see Sue and Tom, the lovely Miss Daisy, wander around their woods (I love the sticks.  I know we have sticks here, but I *really* like the sticks in Texas.  I'm so odd)...and maybe even a quick trip to the flat place where they find fossils.  (I'll bring my magic pink boots just in case we get to go- I know about snakes and Texas).  And the road trip- traveling with the manz- he sings with the radio, insists on driving (though I will take over when I can- I *love* to drive and I never get to drive on trips anymore...he or Melissa does all the driving...I want a turn! Not complaining you guys, just share the fun-).   We may stop at some curious places, or not, or whatever happens happens.  I know there is a Wattaburger in my future for sure...and hopefully a new rose bush from Tyler- other curiosities along the way.  Lots of photos.  Going to Shreveport where the manz will play games- in cowboy hat and boots- and hopefully win a fortune or two (the fun is guaranteed). I'll play the penny slots for awhile, then sit back and draw unless they make me stop (some casinos care, some don't).  Have a margarita or two. People watch, which is one of my favorite things.  Hang out with Sister Sue, soak in a hotel tub- or hot tub if they have one- with a new book- oh, the joys that await!

I love packing- I always over do it, I get dissatisfied with what I have and get sudden strange cravings for clothes I would normally never wear (one trip, long ago, it was capri's.  Some people look great in them- not me....but I insisted.  Another trip it was getting my hair done, which I did, and that was nice- expensive, but nice.  This year I have summer dresses, new rainbows... I should like a pair of fake-plain-Tom's to decorate, but can do without...but I have a serious hankering for a new camera.  We will see).  I always take art stuff with illusions of making things- I get so excited about the possibilities that I forget that I only have time for my sketchbook and camera on the road.  Still and all- you never know when you might need some paint, or duct tape, or *all* the colored pencils- and the sharpener- and erasers- see how it goes?  And I want to take something for everyone, but I am never quite sure what.  Books galore for Mother, of course, and art (somehow she never gets tired of my art), something for Sue and Tom- not sure what- inspiration?  And the kids- maybe we will get to see the twins and Troy if that works out- lots to do, time is short, make the most of it.

Here at home, I will be out of school- will still have to do my online classes on the road, but regular school is overish- Paul agreed to give Charles the time off, Grendel will come out to take care of the house and doggs/Turrello... he will have to drive the Saturn to work, but it will be fixed by then and all will be well and in good hands.   Ducks in a row, ducks in a row- get everything set, I'm ready to GO!

Springfest

Springfest- one of the longest days in the school 'art year' but well worth it.  This is one corner of our booth- the Morning Glory side is mine, the other side has the kids stuff (Art @ Trask).  Beside us were the band boosters selling lemonade and a local cafe with cupcakes.  Across was the stage, with performances of clogging, dancing, Pender High's band, the elementary county chorus, various local performers.  Across the square was the huge art tent with the county art show (which took hours to set up, but looked great)... I had lots of my kids turn out to help, and -with the exception of one or two slackers- they worked really hard.  Crystal and Juan the hardest of all- moving displays, painting faces, selling work, setting it all up and breaking it all down without hardly a break.  The kids made enough cash to pump up the art budget, and I sold a painting (the roosters) and gave away a painting (the pig- to Donna and Jerry for their house-warming, welcome back to Burgaw, just-because-you-like-it reasons...They looked at it and both said 'Wilbur', which is what I've always thought, and I swear the pig wriggled a bit.  It found it's home- that is how art is supposed to happen- it clicks and *bam* soul connection- it's yours.)

Truth be told, I struggle with art shows. I always end up with a deep insecurity that it takes me awhile to recover from, and is compensated for by excessive overwork, job-searching, and a weird embarrassment- wondering why I didn't learn the 'right way'.  Now, it's not what you think- I love the setting up, the bustling, the hard work all day, talking to people, making art in front of people, even getting up on stage and doing introductions, awards, and all those things.  I am enthusiastic and fun- I play with the kids, network in the community and I love seeing my former students as adults with families of their own.  (and a surprising number of them have gone on to work in the arts as professionals, or found other ways to follow their dreams).  And I *know* that I am a good teacher, a good leader, a good artist- BUT....

insecurity.  My students artwork is not as good as that from the other high schools, or even some of the middle schools.  I could blame it on materials or time, class sizes or what-have-you, but truth be told (apparently it is a day for truth-telling, this day of the eclipse) it's me.  I don't know how to teach them to produce technically excellent art.  When I teach I focus on all the things I find important- content, meaning, context, how everything fits together.  My goal is to get them to *think*- creatively, intellectually- and communicate that vision....and the thinking part, more or less, works.  What I get lazy about, and thus they are lazy about, is technique....and I don't know where I missed that part of learning how to teach.  I really don't have a clue if it's because I get bored, or lazy, or distracted, or never liked learning technique myself that is the reason- perhaps all of those.  And it carries over into my own art, because I am much more interested in the meaning of what I make- all of my technical skills simply come from constantly making  things, drawing, painting...just doing.  So when my students art is next to the other high schools, it doesn't look as good.  Plain and simple.  And that makes me insecure, and embarrassed, and feeling like I don't know what I am doing and the kids would be much better off with another teacher. And I wonder if I need to go down to the middle or elementary level, but I know I have no patience for middle-school ages and it's been so long since I've been with the little ones.... and I love the high school kids even though they make me nuts.  It's my age group.  Then I think of moving on to administration (yuck. I hate telling people what to do) or curriculum (not bad, just hard to find a job) or something else...and I just want to cry.

It's odd because I do love my kids and my job, I love teaching and I know that I am good at it.  I just hate the competition (even though it isn't *technically* a competition with ribbons etc, the works next to each other creates a competition...and I dislike that. That's also why I hate playing games, sports, selling things- if I'm not going to win, I'm not going to do it, and I have this core belief that I'm not going to win, not going to be picked for the team (and will drop the ball if I am, or be hit by it), not worth a decent price.  I don't have those doubts with my ability to think, or plan, or organize- just compete.  My gut reaction to this is to simply avoid it.  I don't play games, or sports.  I don't enter art shows and dislike having student shows.  I don't sell my work, promote it to galleries, place a high price- I usually avoid pricing it all together because I am simply astonished that anyone would want it at all.  Yet I have sold work, I have been in art shows .... but the whole thing just throws me off step- and I end up being insecure about a host of things.  I look old, my hair sucks (the style- I'm all forehead, and it needs dyed... but we cannot afford things like haircuts and professional dye...) I need to loose weight (I look sloppy-in-body and I don't like that.  When I look big and curvy that is awesome, but big-n-sloppy is not...and it's not the clothing, it's the sag- bleah).  I end up a bit of a wreck all over, and that is definitely why I don't like art shows.  (and so I know what I will be talking about to Dr. Mike this week~ )

Don't worry- this is just a 'low spot' (as Mother used to say).  I'll get my balance back, step up, do my job continue to work hard.  For awhile I will worry about it and try to reinvent some things- it might even work- but probably revert back to my normal style of teaching... it can't be that bad because the kids *do* learn things, we have a good relationship, and some of them go on to use it in their lives-  and I also need to remember the perspective that I'm just a high school art teacher and this shouldn't be that big of a deal.  Get over it, and if I want to do something about the way I look, I just need to do it.  Go back on the diet, move more, figure out a way to come to terms with my hair and my face and my perception of myself.  (and I know there is a correlation between the art-show self-esteem issue and the punishment of dieting and the impulse to physically recreate myself....that if I change the way I look, other things will change.  I should of learned this lesson by now, but instead I repeat the pattern over and over).

So today, I'm not sure what I'm going to do but I have to get over this spot.  I will do some work, clean a bit- I'm supposed to take George to Grendel's in Wilmington, but I have this inertia...I don't really want to go anywhere right now...I need a time out.

Not a painting- a work of art.

This is my apron- one of them.  Several years old, bought at a thrift store for 3 dollars, worn at school, at home, out painting with our roadshow- everywhere.  It has become an artwork unto itself- the layers of paint so thick that parts of it are waterproof and quite stiff.  The pant is layered on- somewhere on there is a hand-sewn butterfly- and the pocket (also sewn on) is torn at the top and knotted.  There is a ring for holding my keys, folding scissors and safety pins- the pocket itself starts out the day with a black pen, my cell phone, purple scissors, hall passes and needles and somehow always ends up with those things all magically replaced with crumbs, kleenexs, and- if I'm luck- a candy wrapper.  I go through more needles and black pens than anyone I know... they simply vanish.  My cell phone just likes to play games and escapes to hide under various heaps of stuff until I am forced to have some student call it and we all play hide-and-seek.  Work and play, makes my day!

Today is Springfest- one of the longest days of all- I am up having a coffee and writing before I gather the last few things, shower, unpack the car- wake up Mr. Owens so that he can repack the car plus tables, chairs, tent and my artwork (Brutus is already full of student artwork- the manz claims that everything can fit, and I just have to trust him- I am very good at packing, but he is pure magic).  I have to be in Burgaw at 7am to get my minions organized, set up our booth, the school's booth *and* the county art show.  Mr. Owens is on call and has to work today- had to last night as well- so I am on my own (except for minions, who may or may not show up, and once there, may or may not wander off randomly).  Hopefully it won't rain today- it has rained all week, so it should of gotten it's rain out.... and hopefully we will make some much needed cash- wish us well.

Last night was the first night of our spring production- a musical version of Alice in Wonderland- and the kids and LC did a good job.  I wish I had had time to have designed the sets- even if it was just painting the backdrops- the only issue with the play was the lack of sets.  Props, yes- but no framing sets.  I know I don't have time to do yet another thing- but I do have ideas on ideas and visions...and it would of been fun. They did well though- the choreography and singing were excellent, the acting and movement and costumes wonderful- and for a first performance it was well done.  Cudos to LC and the kids!

And now it is time to get this show on the road, pull and pack and repack and unpack and set up then do it all again.  With luck and love it will all work out and the day will be blessed.

Well, Hello Stranger!

Students never cease to amaze me.  These past two weeks I have been spoiled- handmade cards, unexpected chores and minty m&ms, homemade mole', fresh picked strawberries~ and then yesterday Donna brought me a lizard.  Apparently their lizard had babies, or they acquired lizard babies, or what ever happened happened and they have a slight excess of bearded dragons- and I was the beneficiary of one- Hooray!  He is a baby- only a few weeks old- and will be between 1 and 2 feet when fully grown.  Mrs. Chase- the new bio teacher- checked him out (we don't actually know if it is a 'him' or not, but for various reasons that I will explain later, I think it is- at least in my mind), pronounced him healthy and fit (she has reptile pets), let us have temporary use of an aquarium and gave me a run-down on the care and feeding of a dragon.

Now, I have had lizards before. And snakes, salamanders, crawfish, frogs, toads, assorted rodents, dogs, cats, birds, horses, rabbits, turtles and tortoises, crabs, and everything else imaginable- I love animals, Grendel loves animals, and we had a zoo full the whole time he was growing up.  Now Mr. Owens and I are down to Max and Ursula, and, of course, Turello who runs the entire house with a velvet paw.  And there are our 'outside' animal friends- Leo and family, the skink mafia, visiting Turkeys and Guineas, butterflies everywhere.  We've never had this type of lizard though- before it was the local anoles, a few water dragons- mostly tropical/semi aquatic lizards.  George here is a desert lizard- sand, light, heat are his friends, he is rough and coppery gold, and has a different personality from the aloof water dragons and lazy Leos.

Bearded Dragons are social creatures- they take an interest in what is going on around them, enjoy being handled, tend to be active and with strong personalities.  Yesterday when he was in my office, when ever one of my art girls came in to look at him (oddly enough, it was always the *girls* that wanted to see/play with the lizard...and no I didn't let them touch him- no stress for my new baby- the *boys* were curious but not enough to get close.)  anyway, when the girls came in he would do this head-bobbing thing, like he was checking them out.  Then sometimes he would raise a hand- like he was waving them over, or giving a thumbs up.  Definitely a cad....and I decided that he looks a bit like George Clooney, you know, that smirk- and thus it was decided that he is a he and his name is George.

The manz is not as fond of George as I am.  Likes him firmly in his cage in the other room, worries about the  *cat* getting over excited and interested in him (which is probably true as Turrello has taken up hunting and is quite good at catching Mice and Leos) and causing chaos trying to get to him.  So after various phone calls and a brief scare (Grendel's phone was dead, he wasn't at work, not returning texts or facebook posts- we had been watching 48hrs and I was sure he had been murdered....but no, phone was just charging and all is well) it has been decided that George will move in with Grendel.  George's social needs will be fulfilled- he will get the attention and petting- and Grendel will have a cool pet once again- one that is apartment friendly but a whole lot more interesting than fish. George will hang with us until Sunday- then it's off to the big city with unlimited babes for the checking out and late nights up with the guys.  Fun, Fun, Fun!

Mystery Plant

This plant is driving me nuts- I don't know what it is and I can't seem to find it on the internet or in books.  It is fast growing, spreads rapidly, not sure how large it gets but it is already up to low-shrub size.  Beautiful purple flowers that bloom rarely (one cluster is all- out of many many plants) they only last a few days.  There are green 'spikes' by the leaves, and red spines on the stem- they are prickly.  I don't know if it is poison or not, keeper or not, anything...except it is everywhere.

In the yarden we have a lot of plants that are everywhere- it is botanical deathmatch between the vines- wisteria, Virginia creeper, English Ivy, Jessamine, something else I can't identify, honeysuckle, raspberries and wild roses.  So far the wisteria is the hands-down winner, with jessamine a strong challenger.  English Ivy rules the back where it is shady- and around the mailbox.  Of course, yesterday I added morninglory and moonflower to the contenders- hopefully they will catch on quick.  I love vines- and thus the appropriate name of our home: Tanglewood.

Any hints on this plant-please let me know!  I am not writing much today because I spent all morning trying to figure it out again.... could spend all day, but no such luck- must go on to school.

In the Hollows, along the Highways

Just an odd bit of photo collage this morning, made from images from an abandoned house I explored when Melissa and I went to Grifton.  It was a tiny house beside the road- old enough that it had no indoor plumbing and electricity was jury-wired in from the road.  Overgrown by trees and pivet, but still fairly sound, empty rooms with a few left-behinds: a curtain with a tiny flowered print, some broken furniture, a few religious pictures (angel, advertisement for a revival), lots of dust.  But stories- lots of stories in the corners, every room painted carefully a different color- pale yellow, pink, aqua green. Neat shelves into the walls, at one time lined with canned goods- the stains from rings on the wood.  It feels like a woman's house- yet women, I think, are not ones to walk away leaving left-behinds unless something happens.  There wasn't anything bad-feeling there, so I think she probably just faded away and no one bothered with the left overs.

I love the old houses, the tumbledowns- which our house will someday be- their stories and spirits.  I love exploring them, always respectful of whatever might be living there, calling out first.  Houses have souls, you know, that's what makes them homes- and some of the ones I explore the souls still linger, some are but husks falling into the green.  Very few of them are sad, most just restful- rarely is there 'badness' about which feels like stress, tension, air all tight before the lightening.  Those places are mostly commercial places- gas stations, motels, once a school.  I go there once and then no more, but to some of my favorite houses I return year after year- sometimes they are still there, sometimes plowed under, sometimes just gone.  There are so many of them along the roads here, and I wonder why-

Today is Monday, a promise of rain, the fourth week before the end of school.  Today I have to teach lessons, help Placido with his senior project installation (a Day of the Dead altar), submit proposals, get my endless parade of ducks in a row.  Lots to do, but I am quiet inside- a weekend of rest and stories, making small things, strawberries soaked in cinnamon whiskey and slightly frozen (highly recommended.  The manz invents the most lovely treats for me), Mother's day and speaking with my Mother and my son.  Sitting on the porch to finish a book, mucking about the garden, folding the laundry- all the simple domestics that turn the wheel.

Today is Monday, and even if it is raining, I am going to plant the Morning Glory and Moon Flower seeds that I have soaking- for they are best planted on Mondays, the day of the Moon.  I love their vines and their colors, the way they twist and turn and open and close to mark the day.  I am friends with this day- it holds lots of promise and a steadiness of being- it will be a good one, I think.

Mother's Day

Mother's day~ a day of different things for everyone, some being church and dinner and breakfast in bed.  Gifts of flowers or chocolates, a day off of chores, feet up, pampering, sticky kisses from little kids, phone calls from grown ones.  Sometimes it is a day of mourning, remembering or regret- things left unsaid, undone, things that should of happened long ago and didn't.  My mother's day is a mixture- it is early still, but I am anticipating breakfast when the manz begins to stir (I slept through dinner last night again.  I am sleeping so much that he calls me 'sleeping beauty'- and while dreams are amazing, life is as well and I don't want to miss it)... and a phone call from boy (he had called the other day to ask if I wanted to come into the city today- answer is yes and no- I miss him, but I want to be home today. City on Wednesday when I see Dr. Mike perhaps)...I will call my Mother...I love her and will see her soon, end of June, but wish that could be today.  We will call Charles Mother, who is wonderful and kind (I still don't know what to call her. 'Carrie' is to informal for me, Mrs. Owens is *me* and way to formal, Mother/ mama is for my mother, and I was never fond of the term 'mom' even though the kids at school call me that.  I need to think of something though, because she has been so good to me- and Grendel-), and I will remind Grendel (not because I have to- he knows- but because that is what a Mother does, remind-) to call his grandma in SC and Dorothy in Vancouver. I am wishing well all the wonderful mothers in our family- my sisters, Casey/Sam/Frannie who are raising the tangle of the next generation- I love seeing the kids, how they are growing and changing, how much fun it is every step of the way.  Soon enough we will be seeing Morgan in a prom dress (Prom Queen, no doubt) and the boys all turning into young men with cars and dreams and hopes of their own.  (Morgan has those things as well, of course, but she is destined to be the 'Queen', no doubt.)  And a wish to all my students who are mothers, and Melissa whose Gabe is leaving childhood for the rocky road of maturation.  I am also thinking of my grandmothers- who were different- I wish in particular that I had spent more time or attention with Granny Wrye (despite the dramatics) because she was *interesting*.  Mom mom was a different story altogether, but she is still an ancestor and worth respect for that. And there are others, of course, but this is a day for mothers- and I am blessed to be one.

My Mother is amazing, and was the greatest influence on me- shaped me the most of anyone.  Not just in the ways of civilized behavior and all the expected things that mothers do, but in unexpected ways that made me who I am, and I am grateful- even if I didn't seem so at the time (sorry about that!  It's what kids do- rebel- but still and all, sorry for all the stress and worry).  The greatest gifts she gave me are the ability to think, to observe, to create, to imagine and dream.  To be brave and carry on, no matter what.

Long ago and far away she taught me to read, and made sure always that we made it to the store-front library in Westwood.  Huge stacks of books- Madeline was a favorite- I can still remember how they smelled, how the cellophane wrapping on them crinkled. Trips to the laundry there as well- I could always find stray coins- because she always called me 'lucky' I know I am.  Girl scouts (I wasn't very good at it, but we went.  I made a rather horrid thing out of smelly soap, paper doilies and pins with beads on them one year for Mother's day) followed by a trip to the Dairy Queen- vanilla cone for her, I would get the slushy drink.  Walks all around Headacher, Morro Bay, Caycous, and the woods and fields everywhere in between- I learned the names of the birds, the flowers, what to eat and what not to, how to see the small things.  How to entertain myself with my imagination, working together to create a massive doll house (with furniture) out of a cardboard box- furniture that was 'modern' 60-70's out of spray caps, butter tubs and whatever we could find.  She taught me that reading encyclopedias could be fun (and my huge store of trivia is rooted there- sick days from school were spent in bed with encyclopedias and the vaporizer), how to read a map and plot a course, how to sew and embroider and fuse different colors/textures/patterns into a lovely whole.

My Mother was not afraid.  She drove cross country by herself (with Granny Wrye and child me- she should be sainted for completing those trips without abandoning one or the other or both of us along the way.  Neither of us were easy passengers). Handled emergencies well, was not afraid to go out on her own when she need to.  She let me explore so that I would grow up unafraid- at the beach, in the city, on our travels, at the museum.  I have never been afraid to go anywhere or do anything on my own- I know that all things can be handled.  And no, my mother is not perfect.  No one ever is- but there is value added through imperfections and we all turned out much better than expected- I hope my child turns out half so well.

So Thank-you Mother for everything- all the tears and the wisdom, the scoldings (mostly well deserved) and the lessons, the art and knowledge and adventure and beauty that was mine growing up.  I have a wonderful life, and I thank-you for it daily.

I am a Peculiar Child

This is what I am reading right now- sent down to me by Michelle (Melissa's sister- Thanks Shell!)- and enjoying very much.  It is one of those books that I wish I would of written- not so much the writing style, but the concept behind it. The author went through collections of vintage photos and selected those that were peculiar in some way- either illusions of light, primitive editing or just plain odd.  A few of them admittedly have been photoshopped, but he doesn't tell you which ones- and I have enough strange photos of my own to know that the unexpected can be caught on film.  (Including one very, very creepy one from my freshman year at college- back in 81- it is a photo of my tiny Christmas tree in my dorm room window- it's not the tree that is creepy at all, but what you see *out* the window- not a reflection, but a reaching silhouette of a hand, shadowy but distinct.  The main reason that this is creepy is that my room was on the *third* floor....and you can see by the 'normal' reflection in the window that I am alone and the door is shut. I wonder what I did with that photo-)

Anyway, back to the book- the story winds in and out of these photos, with the premise that these are artifacts collected by a grandfather, used to support his 'wild' stories to his grandson....who finds out later that these stories are a type of truth after all.  Good stuff- a fairy tale and type of subtle social commentary and, most of all, some excellent eye candy.  This is one of the books that I will collect and pass on to Mother when we bring her a new stock of books in June.

I love the story and the format, but also because I am a peculiar child  (and adult).  It's not so much a matter of choosing to behave eccentrically, but rather just the way I am made.  I firmly believe in magic and possibilities, that stories are important to tell for various reasons, that being yourself is your greatest magic- even if you don't dress/act/behave your age always- not as in the context of 'no responsibility for me!' but rather in the fact that you can be authentic all the time without overly worrying about the perceptions of others, that you can create your own realities and explore your life as a grand adventure.  We create ourselves- and that is an amazing power that is often forgotten.  Who do we want to be?  How do we want to be seen?  How do others see us, and how does that make us feel?  What illusions and realities do we present to the world?

Right now it is teacher appreciation week at school, and students are 'showing their love' through giving us various writings (assigned by other teachers, but an ego boost none-the-less).  One of their favorite formats is the name-poem, where each letter of your last name is used to describe something about you, and I have received several of these. The O has been for Open Minded/ Outgoing, W is for Wacky/Work (funny that- but I am pleased that the students recognize me as working hard...), E for Emphatic/ Exciting, N is for 'never boring' (lie! lie!)/ Nice, S is for Smart/Strange/Sympathetic.   Curious.  I expect a few of these, because they are obvious- but some make me extraordinarily happy (Open minded, Smart, Strange, Exciting).  Vanity! and lots of letters addressed to 'mom'.... and that makes me happy as well because lately my school-attitude has been...crappy.  I get impatient and bored, and want to be free- I have all these ideas to explore and then I get stuck trying to get the kids motivated...it is hard for me to *motivate* them instead of *yell* at them because they are wanting to not work, to be out of school- and I view this time as a treat where I am also a bit 'out of school' but full of ideas and wanting to be busy and create.  Which is hard when you are flogging dead horses and chasing down boys who sneak down to the snack machine because they are addicted to honey buns (but are also smart enough to know that I can be bribed with mint M&M's into not fussing at them to badly).....  I so want today to be a good day, full of energy and production and the magic of making things- it is up to me to do that, to make that happen and I hope I can (for my sake as well as theirs- or truthfully, for my sake more than theirs).

Dirt

Sometimes I forget about outside, and how nice it is to be in the sun, feel the wet grass, dig in the dirt.  In the morning- getting up long before light- I am used to diving into the world, reading the news, writing, checking school mails, catching up on facebook, adding to pinterest.  I drink my tea and coffee, eat my breakfast (right now I am obsessed with Wasa bread with cream cheese.  For some reason I am all about 'crunch', which is odd for me).  I usually put off showering to the end, then scramble off to school.  After I kiss the husband of course, and assure him that "dogs are out, cats in, coffee is on" and leave him a note on the computer about what is happening after school on that day. Sometimes he is already awake and we watch a show, drink coffee, talk- sometimes I wake him up as I am leaving so he can go where he needs to go- but today I have made an executive decision that he needs a day off.  He has been working full steam and is tired and sore- today is supposed to be full of rain and thunder, a warm dark day and I think he should spend it in his chair with his shows and his cookies.  

I too was tempted (severely) this morning to skip school- I woke up tired, which is amazing.  When I got home yesterday (after school and groceries) I took a 'quick nap' (about 2 1/2 hours) then ate dinner and was back to bed in half an hour.  Deep sleep full of dreams of making things, making students make things, eating...the usual.  When I woke up I did my normal routine- but through a deep green brain-fog, not able to think or write or even keep my head up.  Eventually I gave up trying to work, did the dishes, took a shower an washed the hair, dressed (new green t-shirt with black cat and design of four leaf clovers and jeans.  We are dying, painting, being messy so jeans will be acceptable)... then, still sleepy, I went outside to repot the geraniums so they could benefit from today's rain.  It didn't take long- about 15 minutes to transplant them into the concrete planters, then went around dead heading the other flowers, picked (carefully) one of the mystery plants to take to school to get the horticulture teacher to identify.  (I am leery of these plants- I can't identify them in books or internet, they have spikes/thorns, spread like wildfire, grow tall, have beautiful purple flowers...but I suspect that they are the reason that I get itchy when I work outside....need to know if they are kill or keep).  Then back inside again for coffee and wasa bread.

I've finally woken up- the fog has cleared, and I'm ready to go.  Just that quick turn about the yarden, the digging and planting and *doing* worked magic and has me freshly motivated.  I need to remember that- the seasons are changing and I don't need to trap myself inside all the time anymore.  There is no reason that I can't do coffee on the porch, walk around the yarden, even take Evie outside (my little computer) to check the news.  I wish I was as motivated as Barbie, and able to get up and walk in the morning- I used to on the beach- but here I can't seem to make myself do it for some reason.  Oh, I have a plethora of excuses- number one being bugs-that-bite, number two being that walking down a dark country road in the early morning is...well, on one hand it is safe enough, on the other people tend to shoot things around here. (I can't keep up with the hunting seasons- it may or may not be turkey time- but people in this neighborhood shoot constantly- target practice, wild hogs, I don't know what- just not me or my doggs please).  

Still and all, I have learned something today- something that I knew long ago about grace in action, and that doing with the body is just as important as doing with the mind.  As the manz says- "Outside Good!"

Infinity, love, magic and the vote.

Eight is the symbol of infinity, of stability doubled which creates cycles that alternate- which creates natural balance.  Eight is a lucky number, brings money and wealth and forevers, a good number to be a friend to.  Not that other numbers can't be 'friends', but they are individuals- some feisty (fives!), tricky (sevens) or aloof (ones).  Eights however are good to the core- dependable like fours, but with a rhythmic change. I love them- and most of our numbers add up to eights.

But that is not exactly what this post is about, except that it does involve the date (May 8th) which is a primary election day here, and the magic 8 ball, which I am a proud owner of and which lives in resplendent glory in the art room.  The magic 8 ball is one of my most loved objects by students along with the cash register (it is rather funny to see these teenage 'rednecks' and 'gangsters' happily playing with an old push-button cash register.)...I had an 8 ball as a child (along with a Oujia board- which I wish I still had, or at least a replacement for) and other assorted things.  What do we ask?  Questions.  Serious or not, the answers are black, white, gray- and that brings me to today.

Love.  This weekend on our adventure to Enams (which is a wonderful, magical place in a tiny NC town) we met a wise woman (another Melissa) who was in her forties, working the store (she is the financial manager- degree in economics and business, but volunteers- apparently Enams runs on volunteers).  In the course of conversation (which was mainly the Melissa's talking and me listening, for that is what I am good at- and it was funny because they both had bee tattoos which is how they found out they had the same name, for Melissa is the bee... and like bees they are busy and happy and talkative and wise) the black Melissa said something to the effect that "everyone is made by God, and that includes their flaws and differences.  We cannot judge anyone as being better or worse because they are different than us- God made them that way for a reason- preacher, addict, gay, straight, evil, good, black, white, brown, churchy, hos, wise, stupid etc.  Who are we to say that they are not perfect in their purpose?  We are only responsible for our own."  Which was important to hear articulated so very well- and from this wonderful lady who (I suspect) is a trickster, at turns serious and proper, vulgar and funny, sympathetic and mocking- I think we could be friends.  Or at least I would like to listen to her talk more...

Point being, the whole political thing today with the primary is amendment 1, which in NC defines and limits marriage to the union between a man and a woman.  I am lucky enough to be happily married- to a wonderful Mr. Owens- but I should hope that I am wise enough and generous enough to realize that other people find love and validate marriage in other ways.  That marriage is a choice of life partnerships, a formal bonding of love, respect and resources with the promise to do more than just stay together~ but to care for each other for as long as their forever might be.  (Forever is different for people, depending.  Sometimes we grow and change and our forever together is short, sometimes it is until death do us part, sometimes longer and truly eternal.  It depends, and you don't actually *know* it until it happens....I like to think that my forever with Mr. Owens will last a long long time).  Anyway, love itself is a tricky thing, and like black Melissa was saying- the perfect person for you can be variable- who are we to judge perfect, or love? If anyone is lucky enough to find it, and better yet find it reciprocated, and want to marry- then they should be free to.  I don't care if they are gay or straight or of different races, religions, beliefs, economics- love is love and that should be respected and honored by all of us. (*note- I *do* have a problem with child-marriages- adults only please.)  So I am voting against Amendment 1, because I do not want limits- legal or otherwise- that infringe on love, marriage, and domestic partnerships.

Domestic partnerships is an awkward word.  Long-term relationships with shared economic and social standing, without the religious ceremony of marriage.  I have been in domestic partnerships- and yes, rights need to be protected.  Some people choose to make a life together without marrying, and I wonder if this would extend to life-partners who are not in a romantic relationship?  For example, I am thinking of all the little old ladies I grew up with- Auntie Lou, Cara, Grace Mackel, Aunt Peg, Granny Wrye- they were all independent as long as possible, but what if - like so many of their generation- they had began to share resources at some point?  The same house, for many years~  would that count?  I don't know- I may be straying into yet another area, where family is family but not family.  (Grace wasn't related, but she spent all her holidays with us, and we carried her to doctors, grocery, etc.)  The area is fuzzy- the 8 ball would say something like "Outlook unclear, try again later".

Passages

Photo by Christa, one of my photography students.

When you are first starting out in the world, when you are first a parent, then an adult, then an elder, everyone cautions to enjoy your time for it moves so very fast.  This isn't realized at first- when a child, everything takes forever, lasts forever, sometimes it seems as if things will never change. You will always be waiting for Christmas, and it will never arrive.  Always waiting for summer vacation, your first job, your first kiss, first car, first chance to 'get out of the house and live like an adult'....your first responsibilities.  All events are intensely felt, decisions a matter of life and death- and many of them are for they will set the way you walk into the future.

When you become a parent, everyone says to enjoy it while it lasts- but most of us are to busy caught up in the whirlwind of childhood wishes, adult responsibilities, balancing everyday life while trying to make dreams come true.  At the time it may feel joyous, depressing, over whelming, exciting- if the baby can't sleep, or the elementary recorder concert goes over an hour- it may seem like there is no end in sight.  But like most things, childhood sparkles then fades- and before you know it they are grown and gone.

And then it is your time, to be an adult, to begin again to look forward to things that seem so very far away (retirement), enjoy the present challenges of career and life, reinvent yourself for the next half, fall in love again with yourself, your spouse, your children as adults- your passions that were put off while you were so very busy with other things.  This is where I am now- and I know that it too will pass quickly and I will be on to the next stage- and I don't know what that will be like for me yet.  I keep expecting something different, and end up feeling surprised when I feel all the things that people tell me I will feel all along.  (Some things will never change however, I will have to look up the correct spelling of 'surprised' until the day I die.  It really *should* have a z in it.)

I am feeling this way today because another of Grendel's classmates died last night.  This one, Deante', was not a close friend, but was in class with Grendel, and they knew each other.  Deante was good at art, a talented athlete, smart- tall and handsome, caramel skin and these wonderful light amber-green hazel eyes that run in the Lewis family here abouts.  He became a father while in high school- his little boy will be starting kindergarten next year- he worked at being a good dad, went to college, kept a job, supported his son. And Deante's case was one of those you hear of every now and again- a childhood condition (mild epilepsy) long thought gone comes back suddenly, and you wake up dead.  On to the next chapter.

I suppose that because I am a teacher as well as Grendel's mother I have kept up more with his class than any other- and the evidence of time astounds me, because I don't see Grendel changing as much as the rest. With him I have 'mother-vision' where he will always be young, my kid- the same thing that Mother says to me. (no matter how old you are you are still my baby).  His classmates and friends I have watched move on- most of them are finishing college like he is, some are married, parents, in jail.  A few are gone, from accidents or suicide or strange medical maladies- and life goes on regardless.  They become adults, have children, the cycle moves on once again.  Time speeds up, moves fast- and sometimes we forget in the moment how very lucky we are.

I am very lucky. My husband is alive, well, loves me and is happily snoring away next to his cat.  My best friend is sound asleep in the guest room- we are going on an adventure today.  My son is grown and doing his best to live his own life, and so far so good.  My Mother is alive and well, our family is prosperous and of good nature, even my doggs are happy and healthy.  I love my job, I love being an artist and a scholar, I am grateful for my talent, our tumbledown cottage, our cars.  We have a good life with many blessings, and I am thankful for that- and while the blessings are balanced by the challenges and change, we have the skills and the belief that change creates growth- and everything evolves to the places it needs to go.  Encourage the moment, live in the day, shine brightly and feel everything- this is what I want for today, for right now- is to let the world know that I absolutely love being alive.

Within, Without

This is an ear.  I have two of them, firmly attached to my head, neither of which works particularly well.  For the most part they go undecorated- I went through my earring phase, then out of it- occasionally now I wear hoops or my Nazar beads, but that is it.  They are pierced- one in one ear, two in the other, but just the basics. Not that I don't like multiple piercings- some of them look quite nice- but that is something I never had the interest or discretionary funds to do.  Appearance is something that comes last in the 'spend money on this' for me- after bills and necessities, first is art supplies, then curious things, then books....clothing, hair, makeup and jewelry is last.  I like those things, but just would rather something else, for the most part.

Right now though all of our discresionary funds (which are non existant, I kid you not) are going to an assortment of doctors.  Are we getting old? wearing out? or is it just a phase?  We live relatively healthy life styles (except for the manz smoking and I eat to much) but it seems that between us we are becoming well versed in the Doctors of Wilmington.  But they do help- and today the ear doctor for me.

Because Mother always had ear problems- and Granny Wrye- my ears were always taken care of.  I kept them dry and clean, away from loud or obnoxious noises, didn't do anything weird or traumatic to them.  But they don't work well none-the-less.  My last hearing evaluation showed progressive genetic hearing loss (something that was probably unknown by Mother/ Granny, because it was accelerated by other conditions) and basically that not much could be done for it.  So I have learned to live with it, more or less- I am good at combining reading lips/gestures with speech to figure out what people say.  I can understand low tones, and high tones, but midrange (where most people speak) is lost to me- I can *hear* it just fine, but it sounds like a *garbled* mess.  The kids are amazed and dubious of this- because I can't hear their normal conversations/ answers but I can hear 'all the bad stuff/ swears'- this is because people tend to drop or raise their vocal tones when they are discussing 'forbidden' information or cursing- I pick up on those tones but not the others.  The manz has a lovely deep voice and I can hear him clearly in person, and on the cell if nothing is in the back ground.  Likewise, in the morning I can hear the birds, the traffic, noises in the distance- but not the phone in the kitchen. My cell is set to extra super loud with a ringtone I can hear- so that works for me.  I use special headphones on the computer, and that works well- but in the regular classroom I am getting more and more frustrated, which results in headaches, crankiness, fatigue and general stress. Vargh.

Anyhoo, along with all this stuff (which I have told everyone before, and not to beat a dead horse but just for context, understanding and to get my story fresh in my mind for the new doctor) I have had a massive ear infection for months- since the end of February. Been to Dr. Lori and Dr. Ricardo, three cycles of antibiotics, ear drops that are administered daily with fiendish pleasure by the manz (they are unpleasant) etc.  What this has resulted in is my left ear feeling thick (physically thick- larger than usual) and stuffed with cotton, and ringy...I am deafer than usual (which amuses the kids because I repeat to them what I think I hear- "No, I don't have any homicidal cowboys") and it aches constantly.  Not a sharp pain, just an ache.  And that makes me tired- and after a day like yesterday, where the day was normal but I was working extra hard to communicate, I come home tired and frustrated and went to bed at 5- and slept until 6 this morning, with one minor wake up to call max inside.  I didn't even take my hair down and it is a tangled mess this morning.  The poor manz was neglected all night- no talking or loving or hanging out.....I didn't even wake up for dinner.  Just sleep, sleep, sleep.  Which I don't know if it is a side effect of the fatigue, or the infection itself, or a depression that I am not aware of- my own irritability- or what, but I don't want to sleep my life away.  If I can't hear, I can't hear- give me some possible solutions and I will cope with that- but this bleahness and ache has to stop. vargh again.  Add to that an observation by the principal that I don't know sometime this week (or probably next since I will not be there today and tomorrow is Friday)- vargh for the third time in a row.

But today is a lovely day- it is warm and sunny and hopeful.  The manz is braving Wilmington to go with me to the doctor (I didn't want to ask him to go- he volunteered, and I am grateful because this way I won't miss anything, and it is *almost* like a date) and to A.C. Moore (school purchase order- sketchbooks, alcohol markers, red paint, papers-).  I will have time to grade my photography class today while he is at work, and mess around the house some, maybe even make something.  Melissa is supposed to come visit tomorrow and I hope she does- we are going to Enams Saturday for an adventure, and will spend time discussing our latest proposals, projects and the 'book-we-are-going-to-write'.

In the meantime, I need to clear my head, think, sort out the tangled mess of the end of school.  When I order things I feel better- I like organization and plans to support my chaotic creativity.  It all balances and works together well... right now I am happy overall, in love with my husband, safe in our home, I have all the things I need- this is just another bump in the road and it to will pass.  Or get paved over.  Or resurfaced- after all, adventure is best found when following detours.

Strawberry Season

Back in the tangle of our yarden, along the side of the house, grows a patch of wild strawberries.  They are quite established and are larger than most wild berries, but they are still tiny in comparison to the giants at the grocery store.  They don't taste the same either- still like strawberry, but a light, almost dry taste that is only faintly sweet.  Makes you think about how tastes have changed, and what was once quite a treat is now rather bland- our cultivated berries are stronger, sweeter, much more fragrant, but I love the tiny ones none the less.

They remind me of Headacher, for there were wild berries there as well as Wilbur's cultivated patch.  And there was a cherry tree, wishing well, rock gardens, swing, the big circular flower garden in the front full of peonys.  The sidewalk lined with Hostas, rubarb in the side garden, the lane curving back to the cow shed- Billy used to park his car in that lane, and sometimes he would let me sit on his lap and pretend to drive.  I don't remember much about my brother- he was grown and gone quickly- but I loved the way he smelled like gas (he worked at a gas station), his car, that he would 'make the people talk' (the odd little doll house people- Sister Sue has them now, they were hers originally- they were colored, with jointed legs. The father greyish, the mother red, sister yellow....a baby and a boy that was sort of confederate blue.  And a big metal doll house with plastic furniture, some of which I still have.)  Billy had girlfriends and saw ghosts, went away to the service and stayed there.... I don't know him well, but I do remember him then.

And the strawberries.  The field of alfalfa, the cow pasture (they would get out sometimes), the lady-bug houses Mother and I would make on the rocks in the pasture.  The woods behind with the balancing log, the 'old farm' where Daddy would go to pick blackberries and raspberries (despite the snakes), across the road and down the way Wild Cat rocks.  Teaberries growing close to the ground.  Wilbur's squirrel and chipmunk traps- I would let them go and he would get cranky. Roscoe the jockey by the front door, and a metal milk box.  The games my imagination would play in the yard- I would be a horse, a maker of mud-pies, a digger of dinosaur bones.  Everything and all- and in the summer evenings we would sit on the swing sometimes and then have strawberry shortcake or blackberry cobbler for dinner.  And all was well.

I love the little berries- they remind me of way back then- and Max loves them to.  His 'space' is on that side of the house, and he has dug burrows for himself.  He eats the berries, comes inside, begs for some of my store-bought ones. Strange, but they are pink and sweet and everything Max loves.

Today I don't want to go to school, but I have to.  I am in the mood rather to stay home and write, paint in the sun, dream up some books.  Clean a little.  Be domestic and content with homelife- I am tired of the dramas of students, the crankiness of other teachers, the dust and mess and rules of school.  I want easy. Pleasant. Fresh air and ideas that flow into one another, interrupted only by kisses from my manz.  Naps on the quilt in a dark room with the fan turning (we need another fan- but I want another like the one we have, old style and copper colored, rusting in an interesting way).  But money does not grow on trees, or create itself, and work is the price we have to pay.  I am lucky to have a job I love, where I can create and think and grow, and now is my time to get to it once again.

May Day!

It is the first of May, and I am struck by the thought of the coincidence of May Day holiday and Mayday as 'please help'.  According to wikipedia, they are unrelated- the holiday and the call of distress (which is from a French word), but according to me, I find them synchronous in a way.  May Day itself is an old seasonal celebration, heralding the beginning of summer back when the seasons were defined differently.  A day for celebration and dancing, maypoles, may baskets, may queens, may wine.  The Greek goddess Maia was the eldest of the Pleiades, a minor goddess of fertility, nurturing and the earth. This later got wrapped up in with the church celebration of Pentecost, and the return of the holy spirit as the flame of inspiration.  King Arthur made his knights renew their Pentecostal Oath on  Mayday- to uphold the laws of Chivalry and allegiance.  He also set the rule that no one should eat until they were confronted with a great marvel or quest~ the questing beast itself arrived on a May Day.  And so did the Green Knight, the first sighting of the Holy Grail and other assorted wonders.

May Day is also International Workers Day- a sort of Labor day for the world (with the exception of the US, which has it's own labor day because we just *have* to be different.  Much like the other celebrations, the day is spent in festivities and celebration- a day of rest with the prescription of fun.

Now the distress call- 'mayday'- I connect it like this:  on the hand of the International Workers Day, it was a distress call for work reform- the creation of the day broken into 8 hour segments: 8 for work, 8 for sleep, 8 for what you will.  Balance.  In the context of King Arthur and his court, the oath was a call to aid for the right, the good- and the quest was a direct call to aid.  As for Pentecost, a call to aid the establishment of the church, and in the pagan sense, the aid to renewal and growth- the may pole, wine, maidens, baskets are all symbols and rituals to help fertility.  Many, many babies got their starts on a mayday in the past.

For me, it is one of the forgotten holidays. I have this thing about forgotten holidays- they were important and the ancestors of other things we celebrate- either in a grand scale or a local one.  (Here we call it Springfest, and it is in a few weeks).  I want to remember them though, and teach the kids about them- what they are, where they come from, what to do in celebration.  So today I will take a few flowers to school and talk about it.  Tonight I will light a white candle and drink some May wine (which I actually got to make this year!)  I found woodruff in NYC, and was able to create a batch- I haven't had it since long ago in California.  I will have a small glass- wine gives me a monster headache and I have been living already with one for days and days, maybe persuade Mr. Owens to taste it.  It is a day for sunshine and good magics, a night for inspiration and love.  Cheers to all!