Cabinet of Curiosities

Not the best picture, but one of my cabinet of curiosities in the rose room.  They hang on the wall- there are several of them- two are large printer trays, this one a recycled cassette tape holder.  I have others- small shelves with compartments sitting on the book cases.  I love small things, collecting things, mysterious things that may-or-may-not be magic.  Or at least magic to me.  The cabinets contain all sorts of bottles and tinctures, leaves and seeds, butterflies, bones, shells, stones, inks, figures, eggshells, dominoes and dice, little things, lost things, strange small machines.  

This past weekend was spent in resting, not doing the paperwork I should of done (and which I did this morning- it only took an hour and I would of once again been much better off to tackle that first then relax all weekend, someday I will learn), sleeping.  I have finished with ECU for the semester- just got my final grades, both A's (perfect score on the policy and procedure manual which was a chore to write- but hooray!) so that is done until Fall.  I am grading the work of my photography students, and assessing the portfolios of my Trask students- that will be done in all good time.  I do have to work on the proposals for conference next year with Melissa- every intention of doing that this weekend but the brain was on holiday, and instead of thinking I just cleaned, napped, sat on the porch and read.  A time out, badly needed.  The manz worked a marathon day Saturday, and finally was able to stop and rest yesterday afternoon- he is still asleep, which is good for him.  He works so hard and gets so sore- but perseveres right through it.  

We went to see Dr. Lori on Friday, but she cancelled last minute (again!  We love Dr. Lori, but sometimes it is hard to see her when we need to).  Anyway, I ended up seeing Dr.V instead, who is also wonderful, because my ear is still not right- the infection has never let up, but intensified, spread to my throat and my eyes are itching as well.  So cipro twice a day (huge horse pills, taste nasty), expensive ear drops and referral to ENT specialist this week.  (The joys of yet another specialist copay, more testing)- in the meantime I am banned from heights, ladders (dizziness/ vertigo because of the ears), telephones for the most part (I can't hear on them at all, and the infection is also in/on the outer ear so I don't want to contaminate them...if such a thing is possible.  I don't use ear phones except for my big special ones for Live class, which is over for now, so that to is a good thing).  And heavy machinery.  I can still drive, but no bull dozers, cranes or anything with grinding noises.  That at least is easy to avoid.  In the meantime, I take my plethra of pills, including the blue pills (not viagra, an aleve type pill) thrice a day, and speak REALLY LOUD because I can't judge my own volume right now, and need extra naps apparently.  Which are never a problem, except at school.

I know that this will ease up soon, and that I will recover my initiative to actually 'do stuff', but in the meantime I'm thinking that I can coast- just for a bit, just for today.

Mr. Owens Gets Creative!

The last few days the manz has been busy working down the road at Paul's- building the storage barn (not a storage shed- that is what I thought at first- no, storage for flat-bed wreckers and tow trucks), road calls and all of it.  Work, work, work- which is a good thing, but the combination of ladders and tool-belts has made him sore. Last night he had trouble sleeping- ended up in the chair- (of course, while sympathetic, I am of no help of all because I am queen champion of sleepers)- just now (at 6) woke up and stumbled off to bed.  In his attempts at falling asleep he had a creative streak- and I woke up to not only a love note on the coffee pot, but also a collage on the computer from my resident cookie monster.  He used the packaging, and the modpodge and wala! Art.

It's things like this that make me fall all head-over-heels again- the bits of silly, of inspiration, the little notes and just the playfulness that we have together.  They make me smile, feel good inside, set us up for a fantastic day.

The Tinderbox

The Tinderbox.  Illustration by Margaret Tarrent

Once upon a time, long ago and far away, there was a solider on the way home from the wars.  He was walking alone through a forest when he came across an old woman, a witch if you will, standing by a tree.  She spoke to him and asked for his help- if he would only do her one small favor, he would be greatly rewarded with cash-money.... of course he said yes, for the favor was just to find and return the tinderbox dropped down through the hole in the tree, for she should not be crawling around the inside of trees at her age.

But there was a catch- isn't there always?- for down in the tree live three dogs, and it was by trying to get a look at them that she dropped the box in the first place.  Now, solider, she said- this is what you need to do about the doggies.  Take my apron (it is scented with sausage, and checked all blue and white like a summer sky) and lay it on the floor.  As you come to the dogs, pick them up and set them on the apron.  They will be so happy in their sniffing that they will let you be and you can take what you will from the chests they guard.  Just please, please good sir, remember an old ladies tinderbox.

The solider took the apron and his napsack and crawled into the tree.  Down among the roots, far underground, he saw a light.  This light came from a small dog with eyes as big as teacups, sitting on a finely carved chest.  He remembered to put down the apron, then picked up the dog and set it down where it began sniffing for sausage. The solider opened the chest to find stacks of copper coins, which he added to his napsack.... then he picked up the dog and set him upon the chest again.  

Further along, there was another light and another dog- this one with eyes as big as millstones.  The dog itself was still smallish, and he was able to set it upon the apron, open the chest and fill his napsack with silver coins. The next light- even brighter- led him to the biggest dog with the biggest eyes, eyes like great glowing windmills spinning.  It was a bit of a struggle, but he lifted the dog and set him to upon the apron (for all dogs love sausage, regardless of their size).  Inside this chest was gold- heaps of gold- and the solider filled his napsack full.  He replaced the dog and climbed to the surface, forgetting all about the tinderbox.

When the old lady asked for the box- which was the whole point of him going underground after all- he returned to the roots to find it.  No lights this time, but the box (a rather shabby thing, truthfully) was down among the dirt. He brought it to the surface, and went to look inside of it- but when the old lady protested he promptly cut off her head.  (That can be a problem with soldiers, you know.  They tend to take violence as the first action if they are not honorable- and this fellow? Let's just say there was a reason he was walking home alone in the woods and leave it at that).

This solider walked on to a town, which was a fair good size, and began to live the high life.  He stayed at the best inn, bought new boots and whiskey, ate a full dinner every night and visited the fancy girls.  Money is like water however, once down the drain you can't get it back, and soon he was down to naught but a penny for one last candle.   

What good is a candle without a light for it?  He had none... and then remembered again the tinderbox forgotten in his time of good pleasures.  He opened the tinderbox and struck the flint.  The first dog appeared- and asked for his wish- which of course was money.  The solider soon discovered that if he struck the flint once, the small dog would appear.  Twice brought the second, and three times summoned the largest dog of all- which he didn't do that often because the light from his eyes was quite dazzling in such a small room.  But summon them he did, and they brought him money and delights- anything his heart desired.

Now, amidst all of his pleasures and treasures, there was one thing that he had never laid eyes on- and that was the King's daughter.  Her beauty was such not to be shared with the common folk, and she had thus never left the castle- but rumors, there were rumors.  And suitors from distant lands, all of which were sent back disappointed because they were not suitable in one way or another. But they did stop at the inns and taverns, and tell of a girl that was a true delight to behold.  The solider became curious, then lustful, then obsessed.  He sent the largest dog for the princess.

He kept her all night.  It is best not said what may of happened that night- but remember that this solider is not an honorable man, and his intentions- well, not the best.  The next morning the princess woke in her own bed, telling of strange dreams of dogs and lights and..... other things.  Her mother was alarmed, and called for the King.  That night the Princess retired with a bit of chalk in her pocket, to mark the door of where she was kept.  When the solider had the dog bring her to his chambers, she managed to lay a mark on the door- but the dog saw it and told his master.  Then next day, all of the doors in the city were marked, and the princess was again tired and distraught.

This night her pockets were filled with penny-wafers so she could lay a trail to her captor.  As the large dog carried her, they spilled from her pockets and lay on the ground reflecting the moon.  Unfortunately, penny wafers were the smallest dogs favorites- next to sausage- and he gobbled them all up.

On the final night, they tried another trick- but that also did not work for one reason or another.  But this time, when the dog was carrying the princess home, she scratched her arm on the window casement.  Her blood dripped down unseen, and left a trail back to her tower.  This is the trail that was followed, and led the guards to the room in the inn.

The solider was seized and imprisoned, set to be hanged for his sins.  His money gone, the pleasures vanished, he spent a long cold night in a rough stone room with naught but hay on the floor and dirty water.  When the priest came for his confession in the morning, he wept and repented- and then asked for one final favor.  A small favor, tiny really- nothing to put anyone out of their way.... it's just that the night was so cold and so dark that could he please have a bit of light before the dawn?  See- here is a candle stub left in the crack of the wall, and- look there- over there- on the bench where they piled his clothes, there is his tinderbox.  If you would bring it closer, good father, there would be a final light to warm my soul before eternal damnation.

Sometimes priests are not too bright, believe too easily in redemption, try too hard to be kind.  The priest brought over the box.....and you can probably guess what happened next.

Dogs with big eyes and sharp teeth, greedy soldiers with no honor, beautiful princesses.  Like most of the old tales, this one does not end pleasantly, and there is no happily ever after.  There is a city, long ago and far away, ruled by a man with no honor.  There is a queen locked in a tower who cries every night.  There are three dogs with eyes like stars that watch everything and wait- for sausage.

The End.

This is an old story I just discovered- new to me- and I thought I would retell it.  I stuck to the story as it was written, just put it in my own style- and it grew darker than expected.  When you read it in a children's book of tales the story is the same, but the truth is hidden by what is unsaid, what is implied by the actions- 

something to think about.  I'm going to do something with this story- not sure what as I somehow cannot draw dogs-with-big-eyes for the life of me.  Maybe the telling of it was enough- especially if you think about it, pass it on, because that is what stories are for afterall.

First Rose of Summer

The first rose of summer- (yes, I know it is not really summer yet, but I am on the slip side of school so I am beginning summer for me!)- one of the Jacob Coat's I brought back from Texas a few years ago as a present to the manz.  Just a humble little plant bought on the roadside up by Tyler, but it - along with the other rose- are beautiful, healthy, bloom-all-summer-into-fall types.  I love roses, the different colors of flame in this one, the cool lavenders, the wild tumble of red outside the kitchen window.  We have tiny pink wild roses in the back by the tangle, red ramblers along part of the ditch, stray yellows here and there through out the yard.  There were some pinks and peace roses in the tangle- but I haven't braved it recently so I don't know what state they are in.  It doesn't matter- a rose does not need to be seen to be a rose.

I am finished with my ECU projects, the last Live Class for the virtual school, the last county arts meeting, prom.  All that is left is grading, Springfest and Graduation... it's time to relax, write, regroup, paint, hold hands with my beloved.... and I admit, right now today I am exhausted.  I could so crawl back into bed- even my lips hurt (dry- was so busy with things yesterday that I didn't drink all day or eat except for a small bunch of grapes- ugh- dry to the bone).  I've been drinking my lemon tea all morning, and coffee, and the tired is easing a bit but I would just about kill to stay home and curl up in my bed for a few hours.  Followed by some serious time sitting in my chair reading and watching tv, just playing in my sketchbook, napping- but I skipped school Monday to get all the work done for ECU/NCVPS- so no more skipping school for me this year.... That's ok, I just wish I could wake up.

Have to go see Dr. Mike today- forgot I had an appointment until this morning, but it is already paid for- I just need to summon the gas to get to the city. It does help me cope and figure out things- especially stress and overworking wise- but right now I'd rather have a nap.  You know, it's funny and annoying and ironic and a pain in the butt altogether, but ECU had put me on academic probation (of all things!) because I have taken *TO MANY CLASSES WITHOUT GRADUATING*.  I explained to them, in my best patient teacher voice, that a) this is *not* the same degree,  b) in addition to the MAED in IT, I am getting my administrative certificate for online and c) I've actually taken *less* classes than required by the degree because of credit given for other things.  Not to mention that I haven't made less than an A in a class since...let's see....1992? Not bragging, annoying. But anyway, must play their game and that includes, for us graduate students on academic probation, the following: getting life counseling (thus Dr. Mike- he signs off on the semester work today, which is why I have to go), treatment for learning disorders (thus the Ritalin for ADD, which actually is a god-send.  It helps me to focus intensely- if I had this long ago, if they *knew* about ADD long ago, I would rule the world by now.), and... positive reinforcement from professors.  The positive reinforcement comes in an email- it is an automatic email when the professor enters a grade- for my grades, I get a message like "outstanding job! keep up the good work! You are improving rapidly!"- the equivalent of an electronic gold star.  I was flattered the first time (I didn't know what it was)- but then quickly realized that it is automated, and....weird.  It makes me feel invisible.

The invisibility comes from doing a good job- I am a good student, a good teacher, a good leader, a scholar and artist, but I feel that no one ever *looks* at what I am/do workwise. (Not talking about family, friends, students and most of all the manz- you are my cheering section!) but officials.  We spend an awful lot of time on paperwork evaluations and jumping through hoops at all three of my schools- but no one ever actually seems to sit down and *read* the paperwork.  Take the time to say- oh hey, I see you were part of this- tell me about it!  I'm not saying that I want professional praise (though that would be awesome, especially if it came in the form of money) just professional recognition.  To look beyond the paper formula to the person, and acknowledge what I can do (and also what I can't do.  Which reminds me- today is cafeteria duty which is pure noisy torture. hopefully it will be warm and sunny and the kids will go outside).  I don't know, maybe I'm just whiny, maybe I'm just tired.  I hate sounding negative, and I'm not a negative person- but I am one tired gal right now.

SO, enough of that.  It is time for coffee and almonds (I am hooked on eating almonds for breakfast.  Have discovered my inner squirrel) and the summoning of positive thoughts.  Time to take a walkaround, enjoy my morning studio with the doggs snoring and birds singing, time to smell the roses.

The Price of Ignorance.

Kony poster- official for 4/20/12 gathering

     Sometimes my students manage to make me incredibly proud and incredibly appalled at the same time.  To understand this, you need to know about Kony- and I am assuming most of us do from the media, one way or the other.  Long story short Kony is a rebel leader in Uganda, head of the Lord's Resistance Army.  The intention of the LRA is to establish a theocracy, the purifying that part of Africa. The religion is an assimilation of Christian fundamentalism, spiritualism and Acholi cultural traditions.  His use of children as a basis for his army- as soldiers, servants and currency (in the form of prostitution).  The majority of the children are abducted from families, but the original abducted children, now adults, are raising their own children in the Kony-culture.  An American group, Invisible Children, has been around for a long time- with the mission to keep this situation in the international awareness and promote action against Kony.  (Kony is considered a war criminal and is on the international 'most wanted list'- not only for the use of children, but for promoting extreme human rights violations).  Anyhoo, a few months ago the Kony2012 video came out on the internet, creating a wave of awareness. (and controversy, and rumors, and all sorts of things- point is that whatever the videos alternative intentions, it did serve to bring this situation to the forefront).

       Ok- now that you have the background, understand that this became popular with the students.  The video was shown in the history classes for discussion, as well as spreading through facebook and the like.  A group of students, led by Lindsay (who is incredible, amazing, talented and a candidate for sainthood- I kid you not, this is one of the few people in the world who actually *lives* her beliefs- which is incredibly difficult considering her circumstances, which includes care of a parent with extreme health issues)- became involved with this.  On Friday, all over the country, students worked to raise awareness by spending Friday evening in shopping centers passing out literature, speaking, singing, performing- anything to get folk's attention.  Our students- being poor- handmade posters, painted their own t-shirts, printed their own flyers, spoke at school during lunch and in classes, gathered at the local Food Lion.  I am proud of them for believing that they can bring about global change through their actions, for being able to be articulate and organized, and most of all for being passionately involved in *something* besides themselves. 

         But.....this brings us to my title and my point and the poster above.  And why students need to be able to read images, and why art is important and visual literacy.  Without knowledge of Kony, looking at the above poster, what do you see?  Patriotic colors- red/white/blue.  And black.  The first reaction is Red/White/Blue = America (backed up with stars, stripes and the political imagery).  Add black for Africa (a bit racial, but we get the point).  Ok- Donkey and Elephant = political parties.  And the Elephant could also represent Africa.  On closer inspection, the donkey's head becomes a dove, and the olive branch is that weird horn-thing sticking out of the elephants head.  The dove is great- the olive branch, unless you see the dove, makes you wonder if the Elephant is some sort of Rhino-mutant-cross, or if the Donkey just has strange donkey-hair.  But that is acceptable.   The big 2012 calls attention to the year- the intended meaning is the election year, and that both political parties should agree to confront the Kony situation- with the subliminal meaning that 2012 is also the apocalyptic year in popular culture, and this is a foreshadowing of that. (Cool coincidence: the traditional beliefs of the Acholi include some of the same base beliefs as other African religions, including the ability to control bodies after death, which we affectionately know as zombies.  The Zombie apocalypse is another part of current popular culture- as if a regular apocalypse isn't bad enough).  Anyway, back to the image.  The name KONY is in big print- calling attention- Invisible children is in small print (and refers to the awareness group, however, this could also be interpreted as the fact that children in our culture have no political power except as images and issues).  'One thing we can all agree on' slogan indicates solidarity- the union of the two parties and the invisible children to stop Kony.

HOWEVER, when I asked my classes to tell me- this was before Linds and company began with their informational speeches- what this graphic meant, the majority of them thought that Kony was a third party candidate running for president this year.  A few of them thought that it referred to Mr. Konny, a former biology teacher/ assistant principal who is now at the middle school.  Some of those few thought it was some sort of bid to replace Dr. Sullivan with Mr. Konny as our principal.  Twisted meanings- but understandable in a way.  

And I am appalled.  Not by the ignorance of the students, because they *are* students, and rely on us to teach them what is important and what is what.  But by the ignorance of those who think that art class is just about 'drawing what I want to' and playing with paint/clay- and is an unimportant educational frill.  No such thing.  The literacy that we teach- the ability to communicate through images, the decoding as well as the creation, is vital to our culture.  At no other time have we been so image-dependent for communication, and the power of the image to persuade is incredible.   And *this* is what I want to do- teach the students that invisible code, those subtle deliberate nuances that make a difference.  Remember- all professional images are created with intention- and you need to be able to discern what those intentions are.  Take a moment and really *see* what is being said.

Handful of Dust

"I'll show you fear in a handful of dust"- T.S. Elliot.

Fear.  I am afraid sometimes, and that builds anxiety, which builds delay of action (paralysis),which adds to the fear instead of diminishing or dispelling it.  I avoid what I fear- I go to great efforts to walk all around it while that path inevitably takes me right back to the center.  Labyrinth and nexus, converging holes between realities- like pouring sand down a funnel, there is the illusion of stability until something breaks and it all trickles through.

I am not afraid of things most folks are- intruders, strangers on the street, storms, disasters, crashes, bugs or things that crawl, spirits, death, bad parts of town, war, disease- these are to be treated with respect when appropriate, but mostly are just parts of life that are to be expected to a degree- they are known and mostly inevitable.

I have one instinctual fear and that is of heights- sometimes that takes on ridiculous forms (like open stairs and escalators) but because I have balance issues and am naturally clumsy, this is probably a strong survival instinct, and I can live with that.

But it is the other fears that are cruel and crippling- the things that freeze me into being static even though I know that action is best.  Fear of failing- of creating work for others that is below standard, bad- this is why I work so hard, procrastinate so much- because I am afraid to start and fail, but eventually the fear of not doing it at all wins out (usually) and I begin. Late. Then have to double, triple, quadruple time it to get it all accomplished- but am usually rewarded because I exceed the expected.  Fear of criticism, conflict, judgement- oddly enough this translates into fear of phones, especially making phone calls and answering some of them.  I hate, despise, would rather die than call parents/students.  I have no problem with text communication, but when it comes to dialing the phone and speaking- I reach an extreme state of anxiety and panic that I usually (always) end up avoiding it or trying to work around it.  I thus put myself in bad positions- I *have* to contact parents and students by phone for my online class, but I *don't*.  And I am worried about my contact log, and being reprimanded (or fired) for not phoning- I am going to try to force myself to make some calls today.  I know that sounds so simple- everyone else uses phones all the time- but I am nauseated just thinking about it. While this is excalibrated by  difficulties in understanding, that is only part of it.  This extends to phoning  for almost any reason- calling businesses, making appointments, solving other problems (curiously enough when I contacted the local Voc Rehab office by email about possible help with my hearing, they responded with a list of phone numbers. duh.) basically anything and everything to do with phones.   (I can hear you saying "don't be silly" but sorry- this is the way it is and I am being truthful).  When we get automated calls at home, I always instantly hang up.  I don't answer the phone at home if I can help it, or at school (students answer for me- tons of just trivial phone calls daily- send so-n-so to here, make me a poster, etc.).  I *always* answer my cell- those calls are from Charles (at lunch, afterschool- to check or ask- I have no phone issues calling or talking to him) or Grendel (mostly no phone issues, hard time hearing though between my ears and his speech).  Students know to text me on the cell- I love texts.   At home I will answer if it is family or Melissa- and I do try to call Mother as much as I can.... but basically, the phone is the *symptom* not the *problem*.  (and yep, I will talk to Dr. Mike about all of this- but this morning I am feeling the panicky need to write.)  I have to figure out a way to get a handle on this- and the phone thing in particular- the other side of the phone thing is not listening.  I just tune out- I don't mean to, but my mind 'goes away' and I become automatic- I listen, answer, but it is difficult to *engage* in the conversation the same way I do when I write or when we speak one-to-one in person (which I know is not really possible most of the time).  It's all that fight-or-flee....one way or another when I encounter my fears of this issue (conflict, criticism, judgement) I tend to flee, unless it happens in person.  Then I have a meltdown, which we all knows manifests as anger accompanied usually by tears (of frustration. shame. rage. never sadness, I rarely cry when I am sad).  

I don't know what to do about this- it's good that it is written out and verbalized, but my heart is racing.  Something needs to be done.

Knight in Shining Armor (with a beard)

Mr. Owens is a professional knight in shining armor.  Seriously, the new job- he goes out on call at all hours to rescue stranded motorists- not with the tow truck, but with the gas they have run out of, the keys locked in the car, the tires that are flat, batteries that are dead.  He comes back and tells me stories- and it is amazing how many people need constant rescuing- he has a talent for saving the day- patient, cheerful, funny and works really hard to find a solution to the problem.  (Which are mostly spare tire problems- spares tend to be missing, flat, stored in strange places , locked up without a key, be strange sizes).  I haven't often been stranded (knock on wood), but if I was- I should like to be rescued by the manz.

And he rescues me everyday- days like yesterday, when I got home late, covered in paint and glitter, knowing that I am going to get fussed at for removing myself from gate duty (I had track duty- and showed up- and there was not a functioning 'payment' gate or anyone to tell me what to do- I waited for awhile, then left to paint prom stuff....later found out that 'track duty' means measuring and timing and raking sand in the shot and jump pits.....oh well.  It's not like I went home- I painted, then taught my online class and was the last to leave the school as usual...but I know that the coach will be grouchy none-the-less, but tis ok)...anyway, came home late, dirty, tired....he had my tea waiting and understood when I had to go to bed right away (even tho still covered in paint- the glitter glue kind is hard to get off).  Told me stories of his day on the road, tucked me in and kept checking on me to make sure that I was breathing right. (when I get really tired I tend to hold my breath when I sleep- he nudges me so that I remember to breathe every once and again)....coffee is ready in the morning, and I am off to another marathon day- but that is ok because he has my back.  And I know that I can count on him if I need help, if something needs taken care of- he makes me feel safe and I am very grateful for that- and I'm glad that he can pass that on to others as well.

Mr. Owens is a care-taker of the those he loves- sometimes it shows in teasing (like with Grendel), sometimes very quietly (like with his folks- we don't see them all the time, but he is always there when needed) sometimes lavishly (like with our pets- they are 'children', expected to have rules and manners, go to school , but are daily cuddled and petted and played with and loved and fed dog-soup and tuna-sprinkles) and with me- constantly.  Patient when I have to work so very much, or get all stressed out about something, helping to do what needs done, listens when I'm falling apart or just complaining to get it all out of my system....but also patient when I am all hyper and have new ideas and can't sleep, when I am making huge messes (he *does* tease me though), when I get all caught up in the dramas of the kids and get absurdly worried or proud of them in turns. He knows when I am tired, hungry, thirsty... but is wise enough to let me know when I am just being lazy- all he does then is look at my feet, and I get the message 'you have feet, get your own strawberries, I'm busy right now doing man-stuff'  (and I know that he would bring me the berries, but I also know when I'm taking advantage so I get them myself).  And no, he is not perfect- and neither am I- but together we work out well and our way of being becomes our love letter to ourselves, to each other.  I am a lucky woman, he is a lucky man- and I hope we are together for a very long time.  

Way Out West

For some unknown reason, last night I was dreaming about playing with Johnny West dolls, in particularly Jake West (the boy figure with dark hair on the right).  I actually had some of these when I was little- Jamie, Jane (tall blonde mannish-looking woman) the girl in front with pigtails (I never knew her name- something with a 'J' - Jenna? Julie? Joan? Looked it up- it's Josie) the German Shepard Dog, the horses.  I still have one of the horses and the German Shepard (I think-) not sure what happened to the action figures, but I vaguely remember 'improving' some of the horses with paint and either giving them to Aaron or trying to sell them at a yard sale.  I'm thinking the paint peeled off and they ended up discreetly in the trash.  Maybe, maybe not.  The horses were the Palominos- I had 'Thunderbolt' and 'Pancho'- Thunderbolt is the big horse- I had at least 2 of those, Pancho was the pony- one of those, plus 'Dancer'- same scale articulated bay horse that actually was part of a Barbie doll set.  The figures came with odd soft rubber clothes/ accessories- skirts, canteens, chaps, hats, bandannas etc.- I didn't like the clothes much (thought it was so *wrong* to wear the skirt over the jeans) but I loved the canteen, the rifles and especially the saddles and tack for the horses.  I loved that the bodies of the people were articulated and could actually ride a horse properly- it always annoyed me that Barbies legs would stick straight out (even those with bendable knees) and her arms never could do anything but windmill.  I remember wishing that somehow the Barbie look (the skin/ hair/ nude body) could be combined with the bendy parts, and real clothes, and that would of been a total dream doll for horse-happy me.  

The horses were hard plastic with stiff legs- they made one whose head moved, one with moving legs, one on wheels with a wagon, and different colors- but I only had the stiff Palomino types.  They were good because they could stand up, but I loved the moving Bay Dancer horse the best.  Of course, I had my own names for all of them, and they were my favorites until I was introduced to Bryer horses- much more realistic and Oh! the variety of breeds and colors.  Truthfully, I mostly ignored the dolls and played with the horses.

 The horse I still have is not one of my originals, but one I spotted and bought for a dollar at auction. I had to have it, and was instantly obsessed with the idea of painting it- but I haven't and I won't.  He hangs around the rose room in all his horsey splendor, somewhat out of place with my apothecaries, curiosity cabinets and books- but still an important part of my history. 

I have always loved horses, real or imagined.  Books about them, stories, the smell of the stable and the meadow.  My cousins had horses- lots of horses and ponies in big barns- they were quality horses, used for showing and riding in competitions.  If I was lucky, I could ride one when I visited- but I was to intimidated to ask and I think they thought I was scared of them.  Not scared, in awe.  I would of been content to spend all of my visits just sitting in the barn~  I went through a 'National Velvet' phase of cutting out small pictures of horses and tack from magazines and pretending they were mine- I even remember crying when a favorite 'broke his leg' (it tore off) and I had to 'put him down' (actually buried him in the back yard.  He was a chestnut thoroughbred hunter, and I apologize for not remembering his name).  I also drew them constantly- that is how I really learned to draw things, is that I would have this great imaginary horse stories in my mind and try to visualize them on paper...even way back when we lived at Headacher I did this- 

Later, of course, I was able to take riding lessons and be around the real thing.  Eventually I had my own horse and the care of others- and I always went riding when I could.  On the beaches in California, in the mountains around Boone.  Selling my horse broke part of my heart off- I haven't been on one since then- it's been about 20 years. (imagine! so very long not to do something I love).  We can't afford one now, haven't the space and I haven't the time- but someday, someday again I will ride and know the smell of the stables. 

Owens Oasis

     Owens Oasis~ the best place to stay, where you will be fed bacon cookies, mansketti and have to pay for laundry (not really).  Grendel came home for a few days over the holiday- when we got home the manz had this sign outside the front door, and signs (with prices and reminders) on the fridge and washer- fun, fun.  We all went out to the farm for Easter dinner, feasting on ham, homemade potato salad (with homemade pickles in it- the secret ingredient), field peas, butter beans, okra (especially made for Dad, me and Grendel), candied sweet potatoes (a whole pan just for Grendel- they are a recognized super-favorite), corn (which is always wonderful, although always claimed 'to salty'), 4 bean salad, biscuits (for Eric, who eats most of them with heaps of strawberry jam), califlower/broccoli/cheese salad.  Tea, of course, carrot cake, chocolate cake, sort-of-a-fruit cake that a church lady made (but forgot the pineapple in it, so it was dryish- but I liked it) and my lemon cookies.  (I always bring cookies.  Everyone else out cooks me around the block, but I make awesome cookies. Even if they are just cake-box cookies, I add things to them- in this case lemon kool-aid powder, rolled them in sugar and *wham* tart/sweet slightly crunchy moist inside cookies from heaven).  Tons of food- we were there, and Charles's Mom and Dad, sister Karen, husband Wayne (who is a hoot, always) and their son Eric who comes in from the military base.    Family gatherings are low-key, we are all to busy eating during dinner to talk much, and once everyone leaves the table the men fall promptly asleep in front of the tv.  Conversation is mostly just catching up and local gossip- everyone knows something about anything- and stories told by Wayne, Dad and Charles- (Charles tells the best stories, hands down).   Coco and Lacy race around, then hop up on laps after dinner.  It's funny to me because Mr. Owens rules Max and Bear when it comes to food- they don't beg or come around when we are eating- I expected the same from his Dad.  But after dinner Coco happily hops up on his lap to watch dessert, and Lacy jumps up on Wayne.  Of course, they are much smaller dogs (terrier and westie) than Ursula..... or Max (also known as 'Mr. Chubchub').  After dinner and before I try to help in the kitchen- I have become kitchen-awkward and not sure where things go or the cleaning system (never having had a dishwasher, it seems that everyone has a different system of what goes in the washer/what doesn't, if it is scraped or rinsed or prewashed or just gets stuck in....and because I remember the time that our portable dishwasher Mother and Daddy had ate the good glasses, I am terrified of putting the wrong thing in- especially when it comes to holiday dishes/glasses).  But I try to help- packing up leftovers is always a puzzle to- because it is 'take what you want' but I don't want to be greedy or take what won't get eaten, and the leftovers are partialed out between the three households and the two boys.  Of course, everyone has favorites- I eat everything pretty much so I am the easiest- and Mom did make a whole pan of sweet potatoes just for Grendel.  (He managed to make them last until Tuesday...good work boy!),

And that reminds me of a couple of stories- I was calling Grendel 'boy'- I have always called him 'boy' or 'boyo' or 'monster' affectionately- turns out that Charles's Dad had also been 'boy' his whole life to his family. Then Dad told about the cards one of the church ladies had sent to the house for years (Christmas and whatnot I suppose)- they were always addressed to 'Owl' Owens.   (Dad's name is Al).  I love it!   Owl.   I know what I'm going to tease him about from now on~

Easter bunny came to our house before dinner- peanut butter eggs, jellybeans and a chocolate bunny for the manz, cadbury eggs, jellybeans and chocolate bunny for the boy.   My beloved husband made himself a bunny ear hat and cottontail, and woke up me from my nap doing an Easter dance : )    Boy and I made the cookies, we went to the farm, came back and took more naps.  Except for Charles, who had to go out on road calls to fix flat tires and refill gas tanks.  It amazes me that people run out of gas- a gas call has a $50.00 charge *plus* the gas- and he usually gets a tip as well. Next week he will be training on lock-outs and learning the ways to open the new doors~ 

It was hard to go back to school after break, I admit.  I am curiously sleepy (I just want to sleep all the time- I start yawning, watery eyes, can't stop, can't think until I've had a nap, which is ok at home, not so much at work or when out and about).  Two days of school (followed by naps), then yesterday back to the city with Grendel.  He got his hair cut again, another donation to Locks of Love so it was free- it is shorter than it has ever been, a good cut but I miss his long hair.  He went to the throat doctor as well who gave him different medicine, told him to keep to his 'no-cut' diet (if you have to cut it with a knife, you can't eat it-) and is sending him to an allergist again for a detailed test and hopefully a targeted allergy prevention system. 

In the meantime, back to school today- school and meetings and twenty thousand things that need done. I'd rather not, but I must- it will all work out and I'll be back in the groove before I know it.  In the meantime, another cuppa coffee will be a very good thing.

New Friends

Happy Easter!  Peter Cottontail has arrived (leaving chocolate bunnies, fruity jelly beans, peanutbutter eggs for Mr. Owens and Cadbury eggs for Grendel...I treated myself to one Russell Stovers dark chocolate coconut creme egg- which was heaven and as close as I can get to the traditional Easter Pigs from Johnstown.  I did the spring cleaning yesterday (most of it- still have to mop the kitchen floor, my least favorite chore ever) and so have been sneezing ever since, but the house sparkled and realigned is worth it.  I have some school stuff to shuffle around (one more day? please?) before tomorrow, but not worried- this is a holiday and I am holidaying- have best intentions of baking cookies: chocolate for manz, bacon for boy, lemon to take along this afternoon to dinner at the farm.  I'm going to call my Mother, and hopefully catch her and be able to say hellos- I miss her so much right now, dreaming of her every night, need to/want to call then neglect to- I am sorry mum, I want to talk and be there so much, so what I do is write.  For you, for me, for everyone- it's how I can say what is on my mind and really talk about things, rather than just daily chat- which is needed as well, I know.... I will try to do better.

This morning is cool and clear, promising to warm up to another good day.  The flowers are mostly over now, but there is the blue snake weed blooming in the yard, the glads have spiked and are growing, the plantings of snapdragons, petunias, lavender, mums, thrift and dianthius (mini carnations) are doing well.  The rose bushes have come back strong after pruning and have buds-  everything is full of butterflies and bees, fat green lizards and birds busy collecting bear-fur for nests.  I love the spring- worked out side on the porch some yesterday making prints of rabbits and kitchen witches, sometimes just sitting in the rocker drinking tea, taking a break, watching the sun.  Lovely.

Mr. Owens was down the road all day yesterday at Pauls.  Paul is a... kinda cousin?  The father of the husband of one of  the manz kinda cousins that used to be my student (Lisa).   In other words, Pender county family- there everywhere- and now I am either a) related to everyone in the county, or b) taught everyone in the county.  At least on this side.  Which is kinda nice- lots of people know us, always say hi, and kinda awkward- you always run into *someone* who knows you, even if it is 3am at Walmart and you are buying cold medicine, toilet paper and ice cream  (all emergency items of equal importance) while in your pajamas.  (which is not quite as bad as it sounds, as I mean my odd yoga-pant, sundress, sweater combination that I learned from Ms. Ball- it is layered, sheddable, comfortable and provides enough coverage to go to Walmart at odd hours)...... Anyway, Mr. Owens has been down the road working with Paul off and on, which is a good thing.  Paul has a tow-truck business, and also does emergency roadside assistance (out-of-gas, locked in keys, flat tires, dead batteries etc), which is what Charles is training to do-   This is great because it is work that is interesting, varied, and doesn't hurt- and still gives a flexible schedule.   In the meantime, Charles has also been helping Paul with stuff- mowing the grass, building a shed, a combination of work, chores and just guys-hanging-out together.

And that brings us to the picture and the story- yesterday the manz was down there working on the shed, and Pauls assorted grandkids were having an Easter Egg hunt.  Lisa and Ashley were there, and the others that I don't know- the kids had a great time hunting eggs all over.  This little fella (I don't know his name) became fascinated with Mr. Owens, especially his beard.  It was fun to look at, fun to laugh at, fun to be brave enough to finally touch it and feel the wonderful soft fuzzy goodness that is beard.  Apparently it caused quite a case of giggles!  They sent me the pictures on facebook, and I was so glad to see the story- the black dog is theirs (looks like Max a bit- but no white and not quite as.....big)  and very protective of the child, but accepted the manz after some serious sniffing.  Friends for all, and a good way to start the holiday!

Contentment

Rain, and a day for finishing a project (not the one that was due first, of course.  I keep playing these deadline games with myself and I need to quit that- why? attempt to control time/ time travel...curious, stressful) Anyway, finished a project for ECU, took a forever nap again (3 hours this time) and then cleaned around- switching out winter clothes for summer, folding my heaps of tshirts (which are mostly brown, black, grey).  I am not very good at folding clothes- I have all the best of intentions but eventually they end up unsorted and stuffed in the drawer again.  I love the process of establishing order to things, but not the maintenance- and I suppose that is a pattern found all over my life.  Or why I cycle between such a messy nest and compartmentalizing... not just physically, but in thoughts, relationships, the all of it.  Loops of chaos and order, wild growth and cutting way back- I am an all or nothing persona and it is a very, very good thing that the vices I have are manageable and fairly harmless (my vices being food, sleep, binge-learning).  Imagine if they were worse- I'd be in such a dreadful mess.

While I was cleaning out and folding things, Turrello was helping- he has a great passion for laundry, fabric and containers of any sort.  He happily lept up into the drawers of the dresser, found an old tag under the lining and after a bit of play settled down for some rest.  I started taking photos, and to my amazement he began to happily pose- turning his head one way or the other, propping his paw on one side, laying his head on his paw then looking up- he has been studying the models on Ugly Betty.  This is one of my favorite shots, because not only is he highlighted in all his glory, but you can see the dresser and the paper inside of it.

This dresser has been around forever, it belonged to Mother and Daddy once, had a matching bed (which I had as well until it fell apart- literally- the wood split to the point that my duct-tape cinder block fixes would no longer work)... now the dresser is left, still solid, useful, beautiful in its age.  I like my furniture old and lived in (battered)- I am about comfort, style of the past- not new, not shiny, not things without stories/ lives/ spirits of their own.  And this dresser has a spirit- you can see it in the faces in the handles, in the scratches and nicks on the drawers and surface.  Ghosts live in its mirror (which I have turned on it's side- vertical instead of horizontal- the ghosts don't mind).  The drawers are lined with paper- tan and brown and black wallpaper with a pattern of shells. Oddly enough I remember this paper- long ago we were moving from Headacher (I think- or it could of been when Mother and Dad were looking to move from Luzerne, but I didn't have much of a part in that, and I remember at least 'feeling' younger), and one of the houses we looked at before deciding on Luzerne Street was newly built- it either belonged to, or was close by, or worked on by a father of a school semi-friend of mine (Susi Brallier, who I still keep in touch with via facebook).  Renting that house didn't work out, but we did shop for wall paper, and of course the sea-shell type was my pick.  I was shell obsessed always, and even then tended to choose brown.  Mother must of bought a roll of this paper and saved it- using it to line these drawers long ago.  The paper is still good, the drawers all safely lined, and it will no doubt remain there for my life time (unless disaster happens to the dresser- I hope not).  A bit of the past peeking through each day, reminding me of the safety and care that was always put into our home.

I don't line drawers. Or use dustruffles, curtains, lampshades unless they are glass- I dislike carpet, place mats, inside-the-tub mats.... though they are fine and lovely for others.  I am a strange bird about these things- I did use the dustruffles faithfully with the bed that matched the dresser, and when I had the twin beds in the guest room- but with those being gone, the ruffles fit nothing (we have a larger bed and a sofa bed for guests).  Instead of placemats I've always covered my table with fabric or quilts- another way to show off my collection. (and we never eat at the table.... sometimes I do work there, or sort mail, but I do like having a table and the look of the quilts).   Windows in our home are filled with odd things- bottles and hanging objects, panes of stained glass- or are free and open to the light.  Living room windows are hung with lace (simple lace tablecloths from Wal-mart, make lovely shadows).  Our bedroom and the guest room have woven white coverlets over the windows- and our window is filled right now with a tangle of blooms- yellow Lady Baltimore, vivid pink azaleas, the small greenish white bloom of privet. A bit of stray wisteria.  The floors in the bedroom and studio are wooden, with smallish rugs- an oriental, a woven dark red Navajo.  I am eager to tear up the bedroom carpet- and the bear room carpet- replace them with honey colored wood that is smooth and cool on the feet.  Mr. Owens created the floors- and they are deep golden, smooth, have a steady shine even after a few years of hard use (especially in the studio- the chairs rolling, doggs, all of my messes)...they are growing graceful with their age.  The rose room floor is painted, and I love it- but I should like to do it again.  The floor in the bathroom is slowly progressing- hand cut wood laid close, finished to bring out the rough grain and mix of browns and greys.  It (and the ceiling in the laundry, which is of the same stuff) reminds me of how the inside of a wooden ship looks- the roughness contrasting with the white cottage walls, small cabinets.  No mat for our tub- it has a ripply bottom to it- and with our water issues it would become another mess to always clean.  Our water comes from a well, and while free (and filtered) is still heavy in minerals- good for the body, bad for anything white.  Everything turns the rusty brown- obvious on the white fixtures, a pain on the shower curtain, lovely on white metal (call it distressed and sell it for a million dollars)- and it is also on our hair, our teeth- just consider it a natural way to extend my reddish hair color.  As for teeth, gave up on them long ago- unless the dental-insurance-fairy stops by, they remain as they are for both of us- but that is another story, a rant for another day.  (Even though I do get highly po'd that I work as hard as I do and *still* cannot afford dental insurance or trips to the dentist.  And on the news this morning was the notice that the reduced cost program that travels the county has been stopped- which means even more of us will become snaggletoothed.)....and enough of that.  Lamps.  Lamps with glass shades, stained glass that glows- flowers, turtles, plain white lilies and colors of all sorts. Glass that can be cleaned with a damp cloth instead of the care required for white silk and pleats- though graceful, those type of shades always end up dusty and tattered around me.  Somethings I am just not good at- and somethings I am.

Today, today I am going to work on things that must be done (that other ECU project), things I want to do (sorting and order, cleaning) and things that just happen as they will.  I am tired of worrying about time, and what I have left, what I must use- today I am letting go and seeing what will happen.

...and the Shadows Flee Away

I fell off the face of the world again for a few days- and with no particular reason or cause.  Sometimes this happens with me when I get a break, and I can't quite explain it.  I get so excited about all the time that I will have- my mind fills up with plans and intentions and creative thoughts and endless 'to-dos'....and when the time comes, I fall.  I just stall out, get distracted, sleep excessively- not normal sleep, but deep multihour naps (which is, I suppose, normal for me) with vivid dreams and which I have difficulty operating if I am awakened.  I need to wake myself up, or reality is all twisted (the other day Mr. Owens woke me up to ask a question- I wouldn't give him an answer until I found my shoes).... strange.  I don't know why this is, Dr. Mike doesn't know why this is, Dr. Lori doesn't know why this is- the manz says it is because I need the rest- I go on forever and then just crash, which may be partly true.  The thing about it though is that this *always* happens despite my best intentions, and then I get all stressed and angry at myself for wasting so much time- which puts me into the situation of counting the hours until break ends, and creating a pressure cooker environment for myself, which is unproductive, stresses me out and makes me depressed.  I need to figure a way out of this.

But the dreams are so lovely- even when they are disturbing or scary- I've started putting them on pintrest, just a key image remembered with some jotted text.  I'm looking for trends and patterns, I know my dreams well- just curious about how they line up with my life and actions.  I'm always curious.

On the plus side of spring break, I have graded all the work for the virtual school, attempted to work on things for ECU, semi-cleaned the studio and got to spend a day in the city with the boy.  We went to Japanese for lunch, Walmart for his meds and groceries, the Hunger Games (which is a much, much better movie than I expected.  The filming is well done and the story is accurate without falling into the Twilight trap), I saw Dr. Mike then went to Staples to spend my gift card from school. (Multiple boxes of my magic black pens, and sharpies were on sale- the colors, in packs.  I need some white shoes to decorate)... fun.  And home has been pleasant, Mr. Owens spoiling me by letting me nap and doing all the house work, we have been out working together in the yarden where all the flowers he planted are taking off and growing like mad. Watching shows together- Ugly Betty, Fact or Faked, Crossing Jordan- shows that I don't have to think about, that are entertaining and give me room to draw.  I've been drawing and painting in my sketchbook, but not on the Time Travel book that is due soon, or working on school things, or....any of the creative projects I intended.  Is that ok?  It doesn't feel ok- I am worried now about getting things done, making myself focus, cracking the whip and putting the nose to the grindstone.  And that is the plan for today- I'm actually feeling a bit focused and it is supposed to rain (removing the temptation of outside).

I need to center myself and move along.  Wish me well.