The Book of Small Things

Owl be Seeing Who?

2012-02-12T05:02:00.000-05:00

This weekend a return to winter- cold and windy, time to be inside. I have had this *thing* for weeks now- not really a cold, just a persistent cough/sore throat/stuffy ears thing...and by the time I got home Friday from adventures-with-Grendel, it was kicking up. Charles dosed me down with Nyquil and put me to bed, and well, I just can't handle my Nyquil anymore. Slept for over 12 hours but was groggy all day- ended up staying in bed pretty much with my Ricola drops and a book (which was wonderful- like a vacation). Pampered with homemade soup and a forbidden bowl of ice cream for the throat, some lovely green grapes and the right kind of medicine. (Whiskey with honey stirred into it. Does the same thing as Nyquil but tastes ever so much better and no sloggishness this morning). Sleep and sleep and sleep. I did wake up enough to read my homework (50 pages of internet security manuals for class....argh) and watch a movie with the manz. During the movie I made the owl- it's just felt, and quick and messy- something a child might sew- but it made me happy and it has its own special charm. I have no idea what to do with it- but it wanted to be made and so it was.

Owls. I've not been an owl person before- oh, I always liked them well enough, but never really paid much attention to them, even though an owl was one of my first introductions to creative vision in school. When I was little- I'm thinking second grade, which I think was Mrs. Banda - we had an assignment to make an owl and bring it to class. We all trotted home where our mothers (of course) helped us (it is a rare second-grader that could use a sewing machine, but it was kind of understood that we all had mothers who were at home and sewed. Times have changed~). Anyway, in a few days the owls were due- the typical owls showed up, grey and brown and black. And then there was *my* owl- it was decidedly an owl, but made of a dark blue-purple fabric that had small brightly colored moddish flowers on it (this would of been the late 60's) and yellow button eyes. It had the owl-horns (the feathers that stick up on the side of the head) and a black beak. It looked like the jungle at night- strange and beautiful and not like anyone elses owl, not at all. Mother had created an art owl- a creature of dreams and magic.

Of course, being a child, when I looked at everyone else's owl, I thought that mine was wrong because it was different. And being me, I probably got all teared up. (I rarely, rarely cry when sad- but I cry when I am angry or embarrassed or criticized). But then my teacher explained that my owl was *not* wrong, but beautiful, and creative and different- and that is why it was special. I don't know if she was just saying 'teacher-talk' so I avoided a meltdown (even then I was queen of meltdowns), but I think she meant it. Anyway, I took it to heart- and even though I still hid behind the conformity of others, I remember that owl, and what it stood for, and the visions within it. It was an awesomely cool owl.

My owl here is not so creative- it's more of a basic owl shape, basic owl colors, doodling with thread and felt- but- it was my medicine of the moment. Making something always makes me feel better- it's a grounding of the soul, a meditation for restless hands. I have a really, really hard time paying attention to video if I am not making something- even the most compelling films require engagement. (with the exception of when I am sick or tired to the point that I just lay there- and that only works with really, really good tv.)

Back to the owls- these past few years/months owls and I have become more drawn together. I acquire them by accident. The bright tin owl lantern on the studio wall, the glow in the dark owl key chain with the diamond eyes Mr. Owens found me, a brass dish with an enameled owl on the lid. Not only things- but I have been drawing them obsessively without realizing it- not in the new book, which is way under drawn, but my most recent sketchbook is owl-heavy. A new totem or guide? perhaps. Owls are symbols of wisdom and death, women and observation. I can understand that, and it makes sense as I get older and my roles change. I am still the crow and coyote, but there is also room for rabbit and owl in there as well. Seasonal totems, and the owl would be winter (rabbit has always been spring, coyote summer, crow fall). And today, in this early morning, the wind is howling, the cottage is creaking, all are asleep- but me, owlish, looking for wisdom and the words of the day.

Lost Music

2012-02-10T05:20:00.001-05:00

Lily Lane

This morning one of my former students ask facebook to answer 'have I inspired anyone?' (this was suggested by her boyfriend- not her). I am one of the first to see this post, and I had to reply: " You inspire me- always- because you were never afraid to be fiercely individual, express your loves and hates, wear your 'art' on your sleeve. I am inspired now by your learning and adventures, the art that you make, the life that you lead. You inspire me because *you are an artist*". And every word of that is the solid truth.

When talking about school, education, teaching- in the general public and while being trained as teachers, as teachers among ourselves, we give each other the reassurance that we make a difference in the lives of students, that we inspire them, that we are a nexus for their evolution of self. Or at least we add to the spin- good or bad. Sometimes we acknowledge the students as inspirations because they overcome huge odds and adapt and thrive- or even just survive- and not to discount that, but that is a different kind of inspiration. More almost like parental pride (and I have that type of pride in Lily as well, because she has had her challenges, made good and bad choices, managed to live through all of it). But then there is a different kind of inspiration- that which shines.

Lily shines for me. And I'm finding it hard to explain, but she is one of those people who are born artists. We are not talking talent (though she has that in abundance), or creativity or imagination or even passion- rather all of these things, and intellect, and work, and emotion, and individualism and such a unrelenting drive to live and express with all of her being. Her art - shown is one of the more traditional works- takes her into all sorts of strange experiments, horrific and lovely, but somehow all part of the song. Sometimes she pushes it to far- the painting above no longer exists because as she kept working on it the surface disintegrated and fell apart- but that doesn't matter. It was made, and it lives still- like most art, no one will ever actually see the original,

and that doesn't matter either. What does matter is the magic in the making, the joy in the work that comes through, that incredible shine. *That* inspires me, and I wish her well.

Coming Home

2012-02-08T06:12:00.000-05:00

student work

Remember the 6 word story? I used that for prompts in my art classes- both the beginners and the advanced- and this is one of the results from the AP class. Simple story "Mom? It's me. I'm coming home." But placed on ephemera- an old letter, an envelope, an obituary....modern found magazine text. Past, present, time, meaning- I really like this. Evocative, which is one of the things art should be.

Like certain songs that get stuck in your head, and resonate over and over again- there is one in my head now that I can't stop singing to myself, thinking of, hooked on the melody and the lyrics of which the only one I remember is 'Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk". I'm not personally that fond of either one- don't smoke, and - well, I do *like* chocolate milk, but like malted better, and chocolate always reminds me of the milk in school lunches- small paper cartons with thin, room temperature milk that you were never quite sure if it was safe to drink or not. I'm not a fan of school lunches...

Today I'm a bit off pace with writing, thinking. No school today- we are going to the funeral this morning, and maybe to the hospital this afternoon to drop off Sara's gifts from school- can't see her though as she is in ICU. I'm concerned, and thinking about her, wishing her well. And another of my students was also in a crash on Sunday- flipped her 4 wheeler, no helmet of course, will be ok- out for a few weeks, neck/back/arm injuries, but lucky to be alive. If she had been riding alone in the woods, or landed differently- worry. I know that the kids need to get out and take risks and experiment but the mother in me wants to fuss and keep them safe. I like everything to be safe (there is that 'world' quest coming back again)- that seems my primary objective at the moment. And it is a bit strange because I never feared Grendel traveling solo, running around the island at all hours, exploring in the cities, staying home alone and then being on his own- but I feared other things- guns, four wheelers, driving. I didn't have those things- the guns and the four wheelers- but Kyle did, and I know that at Kyle's the boys did (and do) go shooting, driving, and- Kyle at least- used to have an unreasonable love of blowing things up. I think my fear of him driving was a disservice, and I didn't push learning it, so he hasn't mastered it yet and is reluctant to. My fear, and I think his wariness, comes from my first years teaching where I had so many students die in car accidents and we attended the funerals- it made me sad and cautious, and I'm sure it made an impression on him as well. Something to conquer.

I'm really off track this morning- sorry- I should be braced for a good day, had a really good sleep last night complete with dessert dreams of this lovely drink made with chocolate, salted caramel and vodka- it was warm and had a light whipped cream on top, sweet but with the salt that made it interesting, and a bit of a bite. Good, good stuff. And I came home after endless meetings and teaching my online class to homemade chicken soupy stuff that was warm and comforting, eaten in my chair while watching cartoons with the manz.

I know that today will be full of emotions, and I suppose I am distracted by the anticipation of that, but I am thick thinking and not clear- a state that I am not fond of at all. I get irritable with myself when I think slow, when the words don't fly right, when I can't focus in on the picture.

Gravedancing, and the rule of 3

2012-02-07T05:12:00.001-05:00

There is a rule of 3, and we all know it- things happen in threes, third time is a charm. Sunday evening, I was sitting here working (of course) and a funeral passed our house, headed down the road. The only graveyard I know of down here is the tiny abandoned one behind the house behind ours- there were few cars, and I wonder if they were headed there. I wonder if it was Hazel who used to own this house....this was followed by the news at school the next day that one of my students had been seriously injured in a car wreck, with the driver that hit her grandfathers van dying at the scene. Time? 6:30 Sunday evening, same time as the funeral wound its way down our road (I know because I looked at the clock when the hearse passed- I always do.) Sara herself I hope will be ok- she is in ICU, and is one of my favorite new students- quiet but funny, awkward, arty- loves magic and horses and boys in that order. Then last night Charles mother called- an Uncle had died (I had never met him) but I know his wife Alberta well. She works at Walmart as a greeter, knows everyone in the county, always has time for a hug and conversation (so much so that they exiled her to being the greeter at the garden department in January- who shops in the garden department in January?- but I found her to say hello). She just had moved back to the main door greeter.... we always talked and laughed about the family, about life in general and... she is my friend. I am worried about her because I could tell from her stories that she loved her husband deeply, and last night Charles told me that earlier they had lost a son (who was his age) to suicide and that wiped her out for a long time~ she still cries about it. Well, I would to-
and I mourn for her. There is not a viewing, but a funeral tomorrow morning, I will take the day off (despite having to take way to many days off lately- but this is important, both death and life and the curriculum must make way). Today I am still and quite and worried about Sara and Alberta and thinking. For not being good socially, I wish I could see them both, just sit and talk and draw and take care.

I am a gravedancer, which is someone who is comfortable with death and its traditions, with graveyards and mourning, with helping and remembering. I've never been afraid of death or graveyards or funerals, and I'm good with it- much better at it than handling sickness or births (which are joyous, don't get me wrong, but I am not an organizer of babyshowers) or birthdays... but I know how to take care of the dead. It's not morbid, its a gift- there are just fewer of us around than there are those who celebrate the other passages of life.

I've always been this way, always loved graveyards. I remember Grandview, the huge graveyard in Johnstown that took up a hilltop, full of mausoleums, tombs, gravestones, memorials, the endless rows of the unknown from the flood, big cedar trees over the unmarked graves of long ago. Each section like its own little town, inscriptions changing languages, symbols and shapes and names reflecting all of Europe together. Carefully maintained (and oh- we did our part! Dutifully scrubbing down the white marble Gothic stones for Granny and Poppy Wrye- now that I think about it, how odd is it to spend time scrubbing your own gravestone- yet Granny did- planting pachysandra so the ground would be always green, weeding and decorating and taking good care.) I would help, or play admist the stones, or explore later on when I was older. After I moved away I would come back to visit our plots, take photos of all the quiet loveliness, explore secretly down the old road where all the discarded flowers and broken stones are tumbled together. I remember as well the graveyard in Cambria California, where Jack had a plot, quite a different place. Back in a wooded area, small and covered with trees smelling of eucalyptus and pine, an abundance of sweet peas growing everywhere. All the colors and all the smells and the golden California sunshine filtering down. Here in the south things are different, family plots tucked deep into fields behind houses, everyone unto their own. The shell above was on a grave in Magnolia, where the public graveyard still follows the casual plotting of the south. No manicured lawn, but areas overgrown with nettles and trees, pinestraw all over the ground, older graves tipped and broken but beautiful with moss and weather. Some forgotten, some carefully and brightly decorated with names made of flowers, flags, birdhouses, dolls, brightly painted concrete angles...and on the older graves, the shells. It's funny, but when I am unhappy or sad or lonely or just want something- I go to the graveyards and wander and think and take photos and find things. They always give me gifts- sometimes beauty, sometimes a stray bit of something, peace. I feel safe there.

Likewise for those who are not buried, they have their safe places as well. Daddy sits on his niche in the studio- an odd unexplained small brick shelf built into the fireplace that is the perfect size. He has his lions (the brass book end and a tiny clay one that used to live in a plant in his bedroom), the crow watches over them, and there is a candle that sometimes I light. Over in the corner, on the bookshelf behind a travel box, are Ruffian and Jezebelle (and they probably hate it because they didn't get along in life, but don't seem to mind it now- at least there is no evidence of dogg-ghosts around). At school, under my desk, is Elvis. And yes, I know it is weird to keep him at school, but ever since his box broke up way back on the island, and a bit of him got vacuumed up, I never resealed it. I keep it and when I teach my students about death (we do that in crafts class, because it is an important thing to learn how to deal with and no one else ever teaches anything about it)- if they wish to they can see. It helps, it really does. It is my role in the way of things, and that's ok.

Quest

2012-02-06T05:17:00.000-05:00

I have been thinking about quests, the topic we have been working on for our presentation, and my life in terms of them. All of our stories in terms of them. A quest is a voyage of discovery, a path that we take- willing or not- that leads us to a place we need to go. (And back to one of my favorite quotes 'we get to the places we need to go' a truth). Along the process of the quest we experience the heroic cycle- the leaving, the trials and helpers, the death and rebirth, the return triumphant.....only to leave again. Stories old as time, and they are true be it for the Alexander the Greats of the world or the person next door. The wisdom in it is to view our lives as a series of cycles, not a line with a start and arrival point. And cycles change.

I wonder what my questing cycle is? I will have to think about it- I know that I have been The Fool (adventure), The Magician (knowledge and power), The Hermit (introspection), The Empress (growth and motherhood)....maybe others. And there are those that we are- the quests we are on to discover the aspects of our nature- and the events that happen to us. Events are *not* quests in themselves, they are part of the trials on our particular quest. I am excited about this idea, and wish I had the day with my computer and books and sketchbook to play with it- but I must move along to the reality of school and work and responsibilities. But first~

The quest that I *think* I am on at the moment is that of The World. The world is synthesis- finding the connections between different things and weaving them into some sort of unity. Exemplified by the rules of 4- four seasons, four elements, four alchemical humors, four archangels, four anchors of astrology, four states of matter (solid, liquid, gas and plasma)....and on and on. Four is the number of stability, and right now I am questing after stability- of income, of career, of school, of marriage, of relationships, of environments- I am wanting things connected, balanced, settled. I am also looking for the connections in things- I don't want it all settled through separating the different parts of my life, but through interweaving them so that each part makes the rest stronger. I view these aspects as the rules of head (intellect, education, school/work), heart (marriage, friends, family, relationships, intuition and creativity), home (income, environment) and health (physical and mental well being). I am remembering now something that I used to draw constantly for a time when I lived on the island- a type of house doodle that exemplified all of these things- so now I have discovered that this is not the first time I am on this quest, but a returning cycle. Interesting. Exciting.

You know, I love writing like this and sharing these thoughts with you, with myself- because I let things swirl around and go otherwise. I think them and they vanish, I vocalize them and they fly away- but if I write it down I can keep them around....and share them with you. I couldn't imagine having this conversation with most people ~ not that it wouldn't be fun, but just that conversation tends to stay to typical topics. What have you done? Eaten? Gone to? What is the weather like? How is...? Which is pleasant and necessary, but not terribly exciting. (for the record, right now I am eating these same things daily: Greek yogurt. An Orange. Tuna with Hot Sauce. Lots of coffee with Almond Milk. Salad with a protein for dinner. Diet tonic water. So far I've lost a bit over 15 lbs, but interesting? not so much). And also- I have a cold that has settled in my head- my ears are full of cotton and I can't hear much of anything. (Solved that in the classroom by having a student be my 'ears'- they repeat questions/statements that I can't hear so I know what is going on- adapt, adapt). Anyway, I am glad that we can share thoughts like this- even though I know it is a bit one sided- after all, I just write, you read if you choose to, and sometimes respond ~ the important thing is, that we are sharing, and that makes me feel safe and well and centered. Thank-you.

Ben Franklin, Black Dogs, Drawing and the End of an Era

2012-02-05T09:23:00.000-05:00

Greyspace in Magnolia, NC

It's Sunday, and raining, and the black dog is at the door. There is an artist from New Zeland that introduced me to the black dog as a metaphor for depression, and I like that- I think others use it as well- but it links that black dog to the behinder, cadejo, hell hound and the like, all the black dogs that roam the world dodging our steps. They bring warnings, and guidance, sometimes fear, sometimes magic. They're ok.

You know, sometimes I am on top of things and sometimes I struggle- and that always seems to come to light on Sunday mornings for some reason. First off, I love to think, I love to work and sometimes I get distracted and obsessed by both of them- but there are few things I would rather do than play with ideas and create words, pictures, plans. Yesterday Melissa called and we got to work on our conference presentation for quite awhile- and even though it was the phone it was fun because of the ideas, the generation of thought that flows so easy between us- and it was a task that would baffle most people, linking the following things together: Jungian Archetypes, Tarot Cards, Quests, Art, famous Scientists. But for us together it was magic- same mindsets, same links. And I found out *exactly* how much she loves Ben Franklin, so we are planning an extra day on our New York conference trip to visit Philadelphia, see the Liberty Bell and the famous crack. (I am hoping for an indulgence of cheese steak and shoofly pie). I love to travel, have adventures and I am looking forward to this- I've never been to Philly either (in a walkabout way) and I haven't been to NYC in years and years. I want to smell the Pearl River Asian Market again (it is a huge multifloor store, and it has a unique scent that I remember but can't describe- something like lemongrass, something like sandalwood and tea... I just want to smell it again.) Strange.

And I worry because I am not drawing, not working in my sketchbook and I don't know why. Sometimes it is because I want to sew instead, but still and all this is very unusual for me- by now I am usually half through my first book of the year....but the pages are pale, white as the snow that never fell this winter. Strange non-winter with the flowers blooming now at the start of February, spring to early for the land, feels like something is wrong with the world, everything off pace and tired. I want to draw but I sit down and I just stop....it's like a great grey wall comes down and all I do is sit.... I don't know if I am tired, or the artistic tide is just out, or if there is something in me that needs reset that is waiting for the gears to tumble back into place. It disturbs me because I *always* draw, it's how I talk to myself best, work out things best, and now I can't. I don't know why....and that brings us to the end of an era.

Charles isn't working at the auction anymore- there was to much of a physical toll for not enough money, and there are some aspects of the work that he just cannot do anymore. And they had a 'difference of opinion' about that~ so the parting wasn't amicable and that makes me sad. We will be taking a break from there for awhile, and I miss it- our friends, the abundance of interesting things, sitting and drawing for hours. Acquiring things for school, collections, to resell... it was an important part of our life and I mourn it. That is probably why I am so out of sorts this morning, not at work yet, dog at the door. I like to think I'm good with change but the truth is that I am not. I like stability in everyday life with the occasional adventure thrown in. I like to know what I can count on and what I can't, that the things I love will remain constant- and when they change, it is very difficult for me to go back, even though I think of it often. The island, Johnstown, California~ other places, other people, other things. I tend to burn my bridges behind me, and I really wish I wouldn't- but there is a hollowness there and it is never the same. And all I can do is remember.

Things Mr. Owens Found in My Chair

2012-02-04T03:59:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was Friday- and I was at school all day, a good day (love my classes/kids this semester!), then an appointment with Dr. Mike, then stopped by AC Moore for some large black/white/gray paper for photo backdrops. (I also ended up with turquoise and grey felt, and a couple of white unscented candles for another one of my 'I'm gonna make my own good smells' projects). When I got home- late, around 7, the manz had dinner waiting (salad with chicken- he cooks the chicken up in various secret-man-ways and it is moist and very savory) and had cleaned the studio. Not just kinda cleaned, but move everything and do the floors, take cushions out of chairs, even clean the Max nest type of cleaning. (Of course, this has nothing at all to do with his inability to handle late night poptarts. Friday morning I found him sound asleep in his chair, an empty poptart wrapper clenched firmly in his right hand, tell tale crumbs in the beard. Tsk- looks like it might be time for an intervention- what I didn't know though is that only *part* of the poptart had gotten eaten, and the rest had fallen into the chair. Where it got sat on and slept on and smushed.....)

Anyway, he vacuumed out the chairs. In his chair there were usual bits of manz things- crumbs (even though he is the most Felix snacker I know, except for those late night indulgences), a stray bit of paper, some cat hair. Then he cleaned out my chair, and found: Max hair (of course, he is my lap dog), embroidery floss, wool yarn, fabric, bits of paper, bits of charcoal and crayons, an ink pen, several needles including a huge tapestry needle that I have been looking for forever (I use it to sew books), scissors, and this scrap of fabric that says 'I Love You'....and that is where the story is.

When I was a little girl, I loved my dolls. I remember them- Jenny, the tall 'walking' doll that had a blue velveteen dress and odd short grey hair (she looked a bit like Maude from Golden Girls), Baby (soft cloth body, soft vinyl head, hands, feet) all the barbies in the universe, Ollie (a homemade version of Raggedy Ann, with multicolored hair, a blue/tan check dress and embroidered face) and Raggedy Anne. There were others- and the all important stuffed animals- but these where my absolute favorites. I would dress up (I had someones white dress- it looked like a communion dress?- an apron with a type of strawberry pattern on it, a blonde curly wig and a straw bucket hat), turn the rocking chair upside down with the top resting on the couch so it would make a gypsy wagon/ boat/ hut (the swivel rocker part on the bottom would show and make for an excellent steering device) and drag out all my 'friends', my huge box of plastic dishes (and treasured plastic fruits and tiny cans) and play for hours. I loved doing that- I still remember everything, and sometimes wish I could time travel back to loosing myself in my imagination for hours like that again.

The Raggedy Ann doll was special. I honestly can't remember where I got it- if it was given to me, or handed down or where it came from- but it was a 'real' Raggedy Ann. It had a calico red/white print dress, white cotton apron, stripy red and white legs with black shoes (the legs and shoes were part of the doll), black smooth button eyes and the red yarn hair. Her body was pale flesh- 'me' color- and...the best part...she had the 'I love you' heart printed on her chest. I loved her.

Raggedy Ann was one of my favorites, and I kept her for many years after- she went to California with me, then South Carolina, then to the Mountains. She sat on a small rocker in the living room until she was replaced by a Grendel, then she lived in the Cedar chest. Many years later, she came back out on display again- which wasn't a good thing after all.

I don't remember exactly where it happened, or when (except that it was post-Grendel), or which of my many doggs was the culprit (I highly suspect Ruffian), but someone chewed her eyes off. I was mad and horrified and didn't know how to fix her, so back into the cedar chest she went. We moved out here to the cottage, had mousey problems, and when I cleaned out the cedar chest (and discovered a hole in the bottom) discovered that Raggedy Ann was the preferred home of the mice. They left everything else alone, oddly enough- afgans, baby blankets, my wedding dress....and that was good...but poor Ann! She had met her maker. I let her go....but, I saved the bit of body with the heart on it. It ended up in one of my project baskets or something, and I hadn't remembered it or thought of it in years....and then Mr. Owens finds it in my chair. I knew what it was right away and happily proclaimed "You found Raggedy Ann's Heart!".....I'm glad that he has sense enough and knows me well enough to have saved it instead of tossing it.

I don't know what my plans for it are right now- but I'm thinking of a small frame, and hanging it above our bed. It makes me absurdly happy, and deserves to be treasured- a bit of love from long ago.

Stories that Shaped my Life

2012-02-03T05:57:00.002-05:00

J.R.R. Tolkien (Hobbit/ Lord of the Rings)

I believe in stories. I believe in the power of a story to influence you forever, and I think when we are growing up we encounter such a story-be it by book, told, movie, TV, art, song- that informs our life and the way we develop. Even our values. My friend Melissa was formed by the Star Wars Trilogy and books, Grendel's story was the Harry Potter series (he grew up with it- keeping pace with Harry's age and development), and I'm not sure what other peoples stories are- but we have them, and if we don't, we spend our whole lives searching for them.

I am from a family of readers- we all read, all the time. Everything, more or less- and as a child I was no exception. I read early and well, and loved to- many trips to the library wherever we were, books carefully acquired and hoarded, read and re-read over and over. As a child I loved all of them, though I *hated* the stage in school when we were required to read all the dead-animal-learn-to-experience-loss stories. (My Friend Flicka, Where the Red Fern Grows, Sounder, Old Yellar, The Red Pony.) They were good stories, and did their job, but until this day I will not read or watch a show where an animal is hurt or dies. I get upset, inside, and choose not to walk that path. I don't have a problem with death itself (quite good with it actually), or people in peril in stories, but I cannot stand when the animals get hurt. That is also why I quit watching the Triple Crown- I would have meltdowns when the horses collapsed, and be heartbroken for days. Silly perhaps, but that is the sore spot on my soul.

But I digress- because I want to talk about *my* story and how it was given to me. I'm not sure exactly how old I was, somewhere in the tweens (10-13) I'm guessing, but we lived on Luzerne Ext. in the house with the trap door and pine trees. (I dream about that house quite a bit, odd). Anyway, my Aunt Gladys was visiting from wherever she lived then (Vermont? New Hampshire? Massachusetts?)- she was someone I always liked, pretty and talented and full of ideas. She made wonderful apricot almond jam. She loved old things, and to write, and animals- she had five kids all of whom I was terrified of at the time because they were everything I felt I wasn't- sporty (very), smart (very), adventurous, loud, talkative, wealthy, 'cool'. They grew up in Canada, all spoke two languages, had horses, did gymnastics, lived on big farms, suffered from major disasters (fires, finance) and bounced back. They went to schools like Phillips Academy and ended up at places like Brown, Harvard, Oxford, Princeton. They traveled the world, married internationally, remained glamorous (my eldest cousin Nina is still one of the most beautiful people I know- I don't know what the others look like right now, but Nina is gorgeous.)

This trip it was Aunt Gladys by herself (I don't remember Uncle Dan being there all the time...) and she brought me a present. Funny thing about presents, you can get a million of them or none at all, but sometimes someone gives you one for no particular reason and it turns out to be incredibly important. And this was- she gave me my story- the boxed set of the Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings. It took me a while to read it- I was dubious and deeply involved with Nancy Drew Mysteries, but then I tried it and fell into it. I read it again and again- binging on it like everything I love- probably averaging about four times a year all throughout highschool.... then I tapered down to once a year...and now, every once and again. I memorized all of the poems and passages, read everything written about the story (which taught me to read criticism- the story was not as popular then as today, so most things written about it were literary or academic analysis), wanted desperately to become the story. For me this didn't take the aspect of pretending to be the characters or acting out the adventures, instead it took the aspect of wanting to learn the skills needed to survive in the story. Herbalism and wood lore, how to defend myself with a sword, tracking, map reading, singing, poetry etc. I had a good basics in some of them (I had already been taught quite a bit about plants and animals by my parents, and had a solid foundation in poetry and map-reading). I failed miserably at singing/music, but it inspired me to try at least to play an instrument and attempt to sing. I took up fencing lessons, and while not an athlete, I could hold my own well enough. I still know how to identify tracks and can do fair well at following/figuring things out....but what the stories really did was to shape values.

What values? Adventure. Faithfulness. Determination. Magic. Belief in synchronicity. Breakfast as very important. Distrust of group dynamics, value of independence. Tricksterism. Unreasonable love of mushrooms.

I've seen all the movies, and wait eagerly for the Hobbit to come out- the movies did the best job of it, the cartoon versions are not my cuppa tea, because these are not really books for children- they are for everyone. You won't find sex in them, only an abstracted kind of courtly love. You will find strong women characters as well as the men, though the women are presented as avatars of wisdom and courage. You will find lovely words and descriptions that take you into the story, that pull you into another land, a land that lingers in my forevers.

Invincibles

2012-02-02T05:52:00.000-05:00

I have an overwhelming urge to make stuff. Make things, and write, and think~ this is where I find my joys, and that is a good thing. This morning it is raining, I've got a bit of a cough and would love to stay home, read, write, play in the studio, drink endless cups of coffee....but I have school, and meetings, and to-do lists miles long.... some of which comes from continuing to have ideas. Every semester I *know* that I have lessons that I have taught a billion times- but I'm always reinventing them, so that means reworking them at the last moment (ahead of time doesn't work- because the new ideas happen regardless) and then ..... So some of my ideas are holiday powerpoints (just brief ones, to educate students about the holidays. They can name some of them, spend money on most of them, and have no clue about what they are, where they came from or why it is a holiday at all- I want to change that, or everyone should know what Groundhog's Day is). And I also thought of doing the reading responses will images- problem is I want to include *everything* when I teach something and then get behind...I like the depth, not so good at skimming the surface (except for things I don't like, like perspective). When I make art it is the same way- when I have a topic I will research it to death and have been researching the same things for years and years, and the art comes along as I do it. The art isn't the end result- it is just a side effect of learning.

Right now things I am interested in art wise include: scientists, archetypes, 6 word stories, psychology and drawings made by people with different thought processes. Memories and dreams.

Images that I seem obsessed with, and I'm not quite sure why: owls (never was an owl person before- always a crow person- from way back when), pomegranates (truthfully they are one of my winter symbols), valentine-shaped hearts (which is seasonal, but I usually tend to anatomical hearts rather than symbolic ones), buttons. Serious button issues right now- I want to put them on everything!

Media I am playing with constantly: felt again (not the handmade felt that is all the craze, but good old twenty cent felt sheets), embroidery floss and beads, words, orange peels (collecting them- first I mastered peeling the orange so that I could create two intact 'bowls' of skin- inspired by a post online about turning orange peels into little oil lamps...and then thinking about Laura, a student in the art dept. at ASU long ago that made beautiful memory-based art incorporating orange peels). My beloved dark bic crystal pens that make a huge mess and that I go through about every other day.....my camera, which is so well used that the color is worn off the plastic in places. I really need a new camera - this one is still a workhorse but the screen is beginning to have issues- but a new camera is definitely a splurge that must be put off.

The studio in the house is our favorite room- we both use it the most, curling up in our battered leather chairs. It has the big computer (Sophia), my grandfather's desk, walls lined with book shelves under the multipaned windows. My sketchbooks are here (some of them, others are at school), art books, school books. Baskets of magazines, ephemera, old photos. Leather train cases full of small random objects, and one with special threads and fabrics. Window sills are lined with bottles filled with beads, rocks, shells- from the curtain rods (I don't like curtains) hang all sorts of things- scissors, glass hearts, shells, wishing stones, teacups, crystal doorknobs, kilt pins, a red bakelite bracelet, other treasures. The walls are filled with folk art and tools (T-squares, rulers, clipboards holding calendars). My small table next to the chair has paint, tape, colored pencils, thread, ink, markers....lots of different things, all in reach. On the tall shelves- one is in the photo- are other supplies- I tend to 'hide' supplies by putting them in things- old cigar boxes, baskets, face-jugs made by students full of brushes, jars of buttons. Our afghans (lovies) made by Mother are here- and used nightly- a peach basket full of scarves knit by Melissa that I wear daily and that have become Turrello's favorite napping place. The manz small tables (he gets all of 2 table tops for his stuff) that have bowls of man-stuff (lighters and pocket knives, certs, matches, stray coins, nails and screws and watches and business cards...reading glasses, ashtray, hair ties...). Max's bed is under the desk, there is an Indian rug on the floor behind the chairs, a small apothecary cabinet from Java where I keep some practical magic, a yellow gumball machine that I am trying to figure out a use for. The room is filled but useful, not as 'cluttery' as it sounds but by no definition neat.... it is a place for relaxation and creation and thinking and doing and watching. (It really needs two computers, or at least two screens....since the big TV died, we watch the small computer screen, and I still work on Evie- but I like the big screen and the faster computer better, compromise, compromise.)

And this is where I am writing, and now- this is where I have to do my prep for school, check all the emails and discussion boards, quit playing and get on task. Lots of things to do today, places to go, classes to teach (origami and horror vacci), faculty meetings to attend. Superintendents to schmooze..... but in my heart, I am right here, and my hands are covered in paint and thread.

Heart in Hand

2012-02-01T05:48:00.000-05:00

No, I didn't make this, but I like it and I think I am going to sew it out of felt. I just want to embroider in the evenings- and my sketchbook is thus pitifully thin. There is a season for everything however, and it is ok to take a break from drawing constantly every now and again- for the past two years I did 4 sketchbooks a year- which is an immense amount. It's ok to slow down and do something different.

And it is finally February! The month of hearts and roses, chocolates, groundhogs, presidents and love. I proclaim the hat of the month the Gentleman's Top Hat, the fruit of the month the Cherry, the flower the Red Red Rose, the candy Chocolate (in a heart shaped box, filled with odd fillings- I always loved all of them, except for the nuts.), the animal the Groundhog, the bird the Cardinal- and the colors of the month black and white and warm bright red. A month that is cold turning warm, where there should still be snow and ice- tapering off though. A month of elegance and beauty and old-fashioned things, cut paper cards and surprises wrapped in lace. Love songs, and chalky hearts with words on them- making things, writing poetry, thinking about love.

January is always a testing month- it is long and lean and brings the first challenges of the year. For us it was health and money and quarreling and coming to new resolutions. It was actually a fairly good start- because it wasn't an easy month, but once again we met the challenges, aired the grievances, found a new foundation that seems to be working so far. (Communicate! Compromise! Care!). Medical issues were tackled- the manz face is healing fine- dramatic scar but the bruising has mostly faded away. Grendel is back to the dr. next week, and while he didn't get the job at Staples, he does have a date with Rachel (who I highly approve of). I've lost 10 pounds and even began exercising- walking and a tiny bit of a jog- due to the inspiration of my friend/ the band teacher Donna. After being given the scary high-blood pressure warning by Dr. Lori, Donna started dieting and walking- just a bit a day- after the first few weeks (and amazing results) I asked her what she was doing and she started coaching me. It really does help to do this with a friend- and when we walk around after school, we confess all of our food cravings and stories to each other. Funny- the manz is always wondering what women talk about, and assume that it is our husbands/love life, children, jobs.....nope, instead we recall fondly of hot-fudge sundaes past, how much we can eat at one time (whole large pizza? check. 1/2 gallon of ice cream? check.), and what we are eating now (Yoplat makes a wonderful Greek Yogurt with cherries and pomegranates. Mr. Owens makes me incredible spicy baked fish. Donna discovered low fat sharp cheddar stick cheese - but I can't have any because when I got some I ate the whole package. I'm NOT good at moderation, but I am a gold-star member of the 'clean plate club'!). Anyway, she has lost 21 pounds, looks great and openly talks about it to everyone- it helps her be accountable- but so far she has gone from 265 to 245, her bp has dropped, and the change in energy is amazing. We both have the same target goal- 160- but while I have less to lose, I lose slower- my metabolism is older, and I have the opposite type of bp problems- it is way to low. Which means I've had to up the potassium quite a bit or I get fierce leg cramps, and I get cold.... but that's ok. I'm motivated for now, and that is a good thing.

School is going well as well- the principal is over whatever crisis it was (testing? new superintendent? daughter a freshman in college?) and back to being cheerful and positive. New classes, new kids that are really into what we are doing- both at Trask and at NCVPS (online school where I teach photography). ECU classes are good, multimedia is fun and easyish, the other class is dry (technology administration, law and policy) but the professor is engaging. Payday was finally last night (last school payday was *before Christmas*!) and all the bills are paid- that worry relieved. (Even though I have a stable job, I never trust the paycheck until it is in the bank.)

Mr. Owens and I are back on track- bumps in the road- we need to remember that communication and listening is key to resolving things. And compromise of course. Keep trying, keep trying and hope that things work out for the best- they usually do.

Lamp Light/ Mariposa Alma

2012-01-29T05:24:00.000-05:00

My desk, again. With the beautiful lamp that I finally found a bulb for- and my precious things. I seem to be writing often about my desk lately, but it is one of my magic places where I make things happen.

Yesterday I was upset, and like always I stuff things inside until I just have a meltdown. And then I am able to step away from the situation and discover that nothing is as bad or impossible as I think it is, and nothing is as easy as I think it is, and everything in this world requires more than a little work, compromising and a whole lot of patience.

So we talked and talked and worked together in the yarden and talked some more....and things are feeling better. One of our big problems is time and how to spend it~ and our off/on switches. My biggest issue is that I don't have an 'off' switch- once I begin something it is difficult to stop until it is done, or switch to another task. I want to marathon-plow my way through all projects...yet, I procrastinate which causes anxiety, so I usually end up trying to do to much in one day (today will shape up into one of those days). It's like a tidal wave. When I finish I'm done, but I'm also exhausted and not good for anything but sleep.

We are going to work on sharing the responsibility for things more, communicating better (which begins with staying awake at the same time), working at working on it. Hopefully, just a bump in the road, because I do love him and I know that he loves me~ and I know that no matter how much I am used to putting all my energy into one thing until it is resolved that marriage doesn't work that way. It takes checks and balances and compromises. It's only year 2, and we have a long way to go, but with a bit of luck we will get there.

It's like the lamp on the desk, and the picture behind it. The lamp we have had forever- it was one of the first old stained glass/brass lamps that we ever bought. The harp of the lamp is low, and the bulb base is an odd size- made for old fashioned bulbs- and I have looked for *years* trying to find a bulb to fit. We even looked for a different harp, but that didn't come about either. It wasn't until yesterday during one of our multiple trips to the dump that we stopped at Marshburns. Marshburns is an old ACE hardware store that everyone hates to go to- not just because they are very expensive on everything, but they are not that friendly.... as soon as you walk in the door (and it doesn't matter *who* you are, what color, age, anything) a 'helper' is assigned to you that sticks to your side (not in a good way) every second. No browsing unless you want the helper to browse with you, which consists of a series of questions (what are you looking for? why do you need it? how about x? x= most expensive choice possible). Creepy, unfriendly, but after being escorted back into the light bulbs, where my 'helper' tried to solve the problem (in his credit, he was a nice yet dejected young guy without a clue about old lighting)...I found a dusty bulb packet at the very top of the display that I thought would work. About $5.00 later (one light bulb. 40watt) I got it home, tried it out and behold- let there be light! And that is a parable- you may have something precious, but unless you keep working on finding the missing part, it will not be complete. And finding the missing part may require trips to unpleasant places where you receive guidance, like it or no. But then the part is recovered, the cycle is complete and magic can happen. Illuminate, celebrate- and then realize that the illumination lights up other aspects of the puzzle, and now you begin to search for them. cycles.

As for the painting behind it, well, I was going to write about it but I think I will save that for another day. Love to all, all is well, we get to the places we need to go.

Catalyst for change

2012-01-29T05:02:00.000-05:00

Note: I had the following post on the blog yesterday, then decided it was to personal and took it down. This morning I re-read it, and realized that while it is personal, it is true-speak and needs to be up, better or worse.

If you don't want to read it, don't- and things are resolving themselves, which I will speak of in a bit.

I know that the only thing you have power to change in this world- really- is yourself. And I need to be the agent of change. And the blog may not be the right place for this, but it is how I communicate best with my self and others, and I need to write in order to think things out, and I need to share in order to not hold things in so much that I am going to explode. I can't handle phone calls and talking because I can't say what I mean, what I feel, and it all gets shrouded in 'everything is fine'. And I know that it is my problem to handle, and no one can do it for me, but something has to change because I am in trouble in my heart.
I am having a hard time right now, because I am not happy. I do love Mr. Owens dearly, but at the same time, I am not happy and I don't know if it is worth working out, if he is willing to work at it so that we can both change and meet some sort of compromise, or if it is a conditional thing or if we need to be done. And it is hard to say, hard to think about, heartbreaking- but truth of the matter is that I have an independent soul and I want to do things, be things, go places- I miss the freedom that I used to have, my center and balance and peace. Because I get angry, and I stuff it all down, and then it just burns away at my core. And I know that I was lonely before, that I looked for love thinking one thing, discovering it was another. I know he loves me- but- again I feel a hollowness. I don't know if he is depressed, or unhappy, or what exactly is going on but we are having a hard time communicating, a hard time being able to say what we mean, what we need, what we want. I try to talk and he seems to think that nothing is wrong, that nothing needs talked about, and in the meantime, I cannot breathe.
Perhaps it is me, I sometimes think, because not everything is a one-way street. I work to hard, and I am constantly stressed because the burden of responsibility for everything falls on me- not just financial responsibility, but the handling of emergencies, the making sure resources meet needs, the picking things up when things fall apart. And things are falling apart. The house is tumbling down, it needs repair badly, the yarden is horrible and nothing is done...and I get angry, and ashamed, and I am caught in the snare between "I'm going to do it" and doing it myself- and I wonder if I am just chicken and need to just man up and do it myself (which is probably going to happen)....or what. Or if we are going to get better and it will go back to the way it once was. All I know is that I am falling back into old habits (getting up at 3am for solitude and work), suppressing myself, distancing myself from everyone and everything, restricting myself to a life of rules- bottling up my will and my soul. He doesn't see it that way- because he never says I cannot do something or go somewhere- but still and all the same, the vibe is there. I've always been good at vibes. And to be fair, I do know that his life has changed considerably and that he is struggling with the pain, and not being able to work, and fear/denial about the skin cancer (more biopsies next week), and those can cause inertia. I feel selfish for wanting so much~ and I've never been good at relationships (obviously). I said for many years that I was to selfish to get married again, and I should of listened to myself.
He would hit the roof if he knew I was writing this- he hates making private things public- but I need to get it out. He doesn't read the blog much anymore, so I don't know if he will see it or not- and while I've spoken of this to him, he doesn't seem to think it is a big deal....and because I love him, and I'm weak, I fall right back into being passive, and the good wife- I so want to be a good wife- but it doesn't seem to happen that way - what am I doing wrong? I have been working on myself- physically and mentally- and have gotten other aspects of my life back within some sort of boundaries, And I am not miserable all the time- it is hard to explain. I get excited, and happy, and positive, but then I get frustrated and tired. I work on boundaries but still am unable to refuse requests. I seek approval through working~ because that is what I know. He does care for me, and is still very loving and fun but I hate having to be the responsible one all the time. I've lived this story before- in different ways, different places- but the roots stay the same.
SO, because I cannot change others I can only change myself- what am I going to do? Write it out. Try to get him to talk to me today, to agree to counseling or therapy or something. Be brave and put this out on the blog (trust me, I've been thinking 'oh, I'll just save it as a draft', 'no one needs to know this', 'it will just upset people' 'I'm embarrassed that I feel this way, and that I'm just a quitter who once again didn't try to make things work')....but I don't need to be in denial either. I don't need to go through life pretending everything is ok when it is not, and in reality I know that I'm not the only person in the world with these issues- it just seems that everyone around me has been so happily married for so long (yes, I know you have bumps in the road) but how in the world do you all do it? How do you figure things out about responsibility and freedom, trust and balance and getting things done? I've always hated to tell people what to do (and like wise be told what to do)- I want *him* to make the decision that things need to change as well.
I just don't know what is going to happen, or where this is going to take us. I don't know if this is the start of the end of our story or just a bump in the road. I do know that I need to change because I don't want to be like this- and I need to find my way somehow- and the only way to do that is to start walking.
Thank-you for listening, and please don't judge him from my words- he is a good man and has been a faithful loving husband- and I am calmer now. and embarrassed. and may not publish this after all, because it is private- but again, I have to put it out somewhere- it makes me sad, and angry, and- well, I just don't know what I am going to do, but I need to do something.

Of Milkshakes and Medicine

2012-01-27T05:16:00.001-05:00

1909 advertisement. 'Our beers are pure liquid food'.

Grendel has struggled with food all of his life- extreme diet restrictions, constant dysphagia, operations and tests and medicines, diagnosis of Eosinophilic esophagitis. Hospitals in NC, SC and Texas...resulting in not only treatment of various successes but an addiction to video games (thank-you MUSC! seriously, it's turning into a career that might actually end up paying his student loans!), the realization that riding a mechanical bull is *not* the best way to dislodge food, and that if you are yacking into a trash can loudly they will move you to either the top of the emergency room line or into a more private waiting area as to not gross out already sick people.

Well, this whole thing stayed more-or-less under control for the past few years- one episode in the last two years that was a quick extraction and roto-routing... luckily not ever when he was adventuring off in another country or traveling. And then, it all blew up again full force on Wednesday.

He came home from work, thought I was coming to the city to see Dr. Mike, invited me to dinner- but I cancelled Dr. Mike (and dinner) because of an assignment I had to finish for grad school. So he went to the Japanese place (where he goes lots) and got a steak bowl to take home. This is not normal steak, but rather the very thin soft stuff, similar to the steak in philly cheese steak, that is cooked on the grill with mushrooms and onions and served over rice. Very small pieces, very soft, eaten with lots of sauce if you are a Grendel. Anyhoo, he took his meal home and had maybe two bites of it when everything got stuck. He's been through this twenty zillion times before, so he knew what to do, and some came up but then he started bleeding. Hospital time. No available friends to take him, and even if he had a car he wouldn't of been able to drive this way, so he called me- and luckily I was still at school, almost finished- so I picked him (and his trashcan) up and off we went.

They took him in right off, not only because he had the gross trashcan, but he was yacking up blood and it was quite dramatic (as well as the whole blood-borne-pathogen risk). We went back into triage, into our little room with all of our stuff (we are absolute champs at this- he had his traveling bag packed with: clothing, toiletries, laptop, cell phone, ipod, homework, books- it weighed a zillion pounds but we have been stranded like this before for days), I wasn't as prepared having been at school and in panic-mum mode, but I still had two bags with sketchbook, paperwork, textbooks etc. We settled in and they came in and gave him some dilaudid for pain (strong stuff- Mr. Owens had it for his back- it knocks the pain out and makes you loopy), an IV and a newfangled blue plastic thing to hack into. The orderly picked up the trash can and said 'do you want this?'....uh, no thanks. We saw some of our old emergency room friends- a former student who is a tech, the nurses aid who looks like Stevie Wonder (complete with braids, sunglasses and strangely white teeth)- SW has worked there for 26 years, seen kabillions of people, and always remembers us.

The drama continued- Grendel's nose started bleeding as well, quite dramatically (nothing could go down his throat, and the bleeding had to come out somewhere), and he was texting everyone that he had hit up for a ride to tell them all was well (they were frantically texting/calling- his text tone sounds like a bird chirping, and that was kind of cool) and called his dad, the doctor (Dr. Saure, pronounced 'Sour' who is a very tiny, pretty lady under 30, looks like she should be a tv doctor, but she is extremely fierce as we will find out in a bit. Still like her though and the boy? he has a doctor-crush) showed up and I was exiled to the waiting room, where I got out the laptop, finished my paper, turned it in. (As a side note, I get a gold star for extreme homeworking- in the emergency room, under stress, on his laptop which he uses for the hardware part of school- meaning that it gets unbuilt and rebuilt all the time. Luckily it was together enough to work, except that the 'e' 'i' and 'k' keys were missing- so to type you have to hit these little jabby things...ow, ow, ow. Emergency room was mostly full of sick kids and parents watching politics on tv. Not so bad)

After the roto-rooting out of the food, they came and got me. And I found the fierce side of Dr. Saure- she gave me quite the talking to about that this was "the worst case she had ever seen, did I realize that this is a life threatening condition and that he not only needs to have a 'GI specialist in his life', regular checks, daily medication and ......well, I felt like the worlds-worst-mother. Even though he is grown and on his own. But I respect that- and I like that she was passionate and fierce about his condition, so she gets to be the 'GI in his life'. (Side note: she gave Grendel the same talking to before hand, minus some information from the procedure. He later told me "I wouldn't mind having her in my life" in a doctor-crush kind of way. Hum...she is a bit older than him....I wonder if she is married....plot, plot. Stranger things have happened...and through all her righteous rage she did mention that he has incredible hair).

What the results were basically was this: there was an allergic reaction that caused the incident, but the esophagus was already inflamed and patchy. The blood happened because he tore the lining again- a long deep tear but luckily not a perforation. She explained that because of his history with all this that his esophagus is a mixture of scar tissue, which is thick and doesn't contract correctly for swallowing, and the contracting parts which are thinner than normal because they have to stretch and do all the work all the time. Food gets caught in the narrow places, everything contracts but the food is wedged where the scars are and not able to move. Just like any other muscle, the parts that are able to contract become stressed with over work and can tear- but because the tissue is so thin, the whole thing could tear open, which would not be good. Scary. We are due back to see her Feburary 10th.

In the meantime, he has the steroid inhaler to swallow again, is on a liquid diet and absolutely forbidden from eating meat, bread and potatoes- even mashed up stuff. She told us that depending on what things look like after this tear has healed that he may never be able to eat those things again- imagine. I can't think about that lots right now, and I know there are recipes and other types of solutions, but still- no bread? or potatoes? or meat? and no pills, all medicine has to be liquid from now on......lots and lots of rules.

It took him forever to wake up- like the rest of our family, he has naturally low blood pressure, and the combination of pain meds/ anesthesia/ and blood loss kept causing his pressure to drop very, very low. They filled him up with IV liquids, bed propped up and had me keep rubbing his feet...and they kept trying to wake him up and ask him questions, which was a bit entertaining. At first he had no idea where he was, but he did know the date, the President of the US, and his name....but my all-time favorite answer was to the question 'How many toes do you have?' he replied '10, no- wait- 8 because three of them are in a box.' They turned on the TV and told me to try to get him interested in it and talking- not a watcher of regular TV I was astonished at the choices for late night viewing. We could watch: politics, golf or preaching (not things that were especially akin to waking someone up) or reality tv including: Jersey Shore, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Redneck Extreme Vacation, Toddlers and Tiaras, Battle of the Exes or a cooking show involving the preparation of Mountain Oysters. All of which were very disturbing shows..... but eventually he was awake enough to go home.

We drove around until we found an open fast food place with a working milkshake machine in order to get him something cold for the throat (oh- no sodas either- acids. But she did ok beer). We went back to his apartment, he went instantly to bed, I finished the uneaten evil steak bowl (which was really good and caused me not a problem at all) and fell asleep on his couch (surprisingly comfortable). I did wake up when Charles called to check on us...and got to here the neighbor in action. Grendel's neighbor (kitchen roommate) apparently has Tourettes which manifests as growling and grunting. I thought that Grendel had exaggerated the situation a bit, but no....it sounded like a rather angry pitbull was next door. Then he started to sing, which stopped the growling. So imagine being in a city apartment, late at night, after a stressful day and not much sleep, and there is this odd vocal singing from next door. No words, no recognizable tune, but it was strangely beautiful and haunting. I fell back asleep, woke up at 7 in enough time to magic up some lessons for my kids at school today (no easy task since this is only the second day of class in the semester), went back to sleep again. Later we went to Walmart for his prescription and new groceries- juice, vitamin water, yogurt, pudding, ice cream, soup, naked juice (it's like liquid salad)....then back home again.

I am glad that he is ok, I am worried about the future, I know we will find away to take care of it. One of the things I worry about is this- the whole episode required approximately $500.00 (and that is just the copays- there will be additional percentage bills for the emergency room, anesthesiology, surgery etc.). I am lucky because at the moment he is on my insurance and I had some student loan money available. What if I didn't? I know the emergency room has to take you regardless of ability to pay- but there would be no follow up, no medicine, no life-time care that he is going to require. What do people do? How do you cope with that? Why is there not some way that we can all get the care we need? Think about it. Think for a moment about the amount of money that gets shelled out monthly..... the new insurance standards (for my work insurance) require that our family pays more for insurance because I'm fat (they go by BMI), Charles smokes and Grendel has this condition. Ok, I can accept that. They also now require that we see our doctors *monthly* in order to get medicine refills- which is 35 x 2 for Charles and I, the GI will count as a specialist, so that is $81.00 co-pay a pop. Grendel is an independent student with a part-time job without benefits- there is *no way* he could afford his health care....and when I can't carry him on my insurance any longer (he will be automatically kicked off when he graduates and/or becomes 25) he will have to pay higher premiums because of his condition. This scares me to death. I can't even find a humorous way to look at it....

At the moment though, I am thankful that Grendel is ok, that I had the money, that we have insurance, that he is not allergic to dairy (otherwise, what would he eat? Not a clue)....and that life goes on.

I just wanna have fun!

2012-01-25T05:19:00.000-05:00

Cyndi Lauper by Liz

Back to school today- with the kids. Haven't had them for a bit, and have had great illusions of getting tons of things done, and like always 'this semester will be different!' I will be organized, they will be engaged, we will make art that makes people go WOW, everyone will get along and I will stick to my diet!....um.....well, I'm trying...

Seriously, I don't know where the time goes. In my perspective, I don't have allot to do (after all I've taught these classes for 15 years), so it should be easy. I've been in grad school forever so that should be easy as well- and digital photography? One class is a snap (no pun intended). I berate myself for wasting time and not getting stuff done in a timely manner- my poor AP kids suffer the most and I don't even know where they are going to *sit* in the classroom (this semester they are randomly stuck in with my beginning level students, so, the logistics is I have 8 student work tables, plus the supply table. Each table sits 4 kids max. Each class has 30 beginners, and random AP ranging from 3-6 students....who require lots of space, and who deserve my time. SO....yeah. do the math.)

Don't get me wrong, I love my work- everything pretty much about it (except when I get fussed at). This morning- it's 5ish now- I 'slept in' till 4 after basketball duty till 9 last night....showered, and am daring to take a moment to myself to read the news, drink my coffee, write (because I deserve that time) BUT...guilt. Because I also have to: post my recorded live class from last night, daily announcement and answer emails from the virtual school, finish getting together my syllabus and first week powerpoints onto the new flash drive (and double checking them since some things have changed....why? because I never ever quit reinventing the wheel), check my ECU discussion boards, finish (well, no. truth: start) an assignment that is due today (it's *just* a mission statement. Which is like haiku written by lawyers- short, precise and legally binding), go see Dr. Mike after school in the city.....and my poor husband is totally neglected and hasn't really seen me since I fell asleep in my chair at 8pm Monday night. He never complains, but I feel guilty- he deserves some attention and companionship. Grendel does as well- and he keeps calling me and everything I am talking to him something happens and one of us has to go- I haven't seen Melissa in months and we have a huge presentation that needs worked on, plus I miss her, and there is not a travel time in sight.....and I do miss everyone. I know that I feel better connecting like this, and I am awful at phone calls, but sometimes I just miss sitting down with a cup-o-tea and talking. Or watching Rawhide with Mr. Owens.....

It's ok. I'm beating myself up and that was NOT the intention here- I know I work hard, work well, and love much. I know I am not as lazy and selfish as I think I am. I know that I am very slightly stressed out (sarcasm) about today, and I know that I feel incredibly guilty for not working on my AP kids stuff, not writing their critiques (which they seriously need), and I know I won't have much time for them today. But...I am feeling a bit better right now~ because I have let this out to the universe, I shared my freaking out with you, and now I'm ready to do something positive about it. Thank-you for listening, and I mean that.

Is it even possible?

2012-01-24T04:49:00.000-05:00

Every day I read my horoscope, usually first thing, and today was no exception. Along with a general caution to watch my words, and the way I set priorities (which is random to others, but makes perfect sense to me) was the warning that, "It doesn't matter how serious you are about improving your life, others may still believe that you're just being extra weird today."

I can identify with this- I've always been a bit different in perspective, and once I grew up I grew into my.....'weirdness'. Let's talk about that- you see, for me, I don't see it as a necessarily negative thing, even though Dr. Carol told me not to categorize myself as weird, eccentric etc. which was her view of them as negative qualities, qualities that kept me from seeing myself as worth of a 'normal life'. It's not that I'm not worthy of a normal life, and I wonder sometimes why a normal life never quite happened for me....but do I try to turn myself into what is 'normal' or do I embrace the life that I have?

I have high goals for myself. I know that I am creative and smart, and that sometimes my brain gets carried away and I have a difficult time 'shutting down' and stopping working once I get started. I know that I hoard ideas like treasure, tend to laugh allot (and kinda cackly, which is kinda cool), don't dress like my age-peer-group, have a different perspective and style in general. I am used to people stereotyping me as the 'crazy art teacher' because it is a stereotype that fits- and I'm ok with that. I do get exasperated when people don't take me seriously when something is important, and I have a strange fear of people thinking I am vain- root of my insecurity is that self esteem is conditional, and I tend to mistrust praise. But, back to being weird.

It's the way I think. I'm not linear, I'm all over the place, pull it all in, mash it up and create something. I jump around and *then* I line it all up pretty- it's curious because the educational technology classes I am taking at ECU support this. Apparently, it is the way computers gather/sort/present information, and it is how we are taught to design instruction- we are all over the board then line it up for delivery. I love that, and I love designing instruction. Yesterday I did another staff development workshop for my art teachers and it was incredible- even though it was a potentially boring/negative topic dealing with something they are naturally resistant to (alignment of curriculum). I also split up my job as county lead- because while I love doing the academic part, the staff development, state meetings, statistics I am awful at public relations, organizing and hostessing events, smoozing with the media and all the 'pretty' parts of the job. So I handed those off to Rochelle (who *rocks* at it- she is the queen of advocacy and public persuasion) and Carol, who is one smart cookie. And I am so relieved-

I need to do more of this. Say *yes* to things I want to do, that I know I'm good at and can do well, and *no* to things that make me crazy. So at risk of sounding vain or crazy, a brief clearing board of the brain:

Make me crazy: parties, social events, business attire, purses, heels, painting letters, telling people what to do, budgets/money, telephones, choosing rules over people, intolerance of diversity.

Good at: research, ideas, presentations, public speaking/teaching, working independently, planning, making things out of nothing at the spur of the moment, linking information, writing, computers.

Now, this is in a work-world context, no so much a personal context, though many of the behaviors carry through. The manz is still trying to understand my concept of fun, which is research/development of ideas and creative work.....but we are working on it ; )

6 Word Wonders!

2012-01-23T04:28:00.000-05:00

Mother has sent me an article- I got it in the mail Saturday, which actually didn't make it out of the mail box until Sunday- about describing your life in 6 words. And that has inspired me to play a game, in which I've been back-burner thinking about it ever since. In the article it had the burbs of various people- celebrities and regular folks- and I thought it was very curious what they defined their lives by: appearance, what they did or didn't do, how they felt at the moment, accomplishments, goals, emotions....etc. Good, good brain candy.

This morning, at not-quite-3am (I have been keeping Martha-Stewart hours, but my brain functions at its absolute best in the very early morning. Then we cruise control through the rest of the day...and today I have to teach teachers, so I must go get that ready in a moment....) anyway, this morning I woke up trying to decide if I wanted to get up and work or try for some more sleep. I played with the 6 word idea thinking I would doze off- but then I created a 6 word epitaph for myself that I just *had* to share on facebook. (Why? because facebook gives me the illusion that people listen to me, and sometimes I make them smile). So my six word epitaph for today was: Sorry, can't die now, still busy. (I was going to say 'to busy' but then couldn't remember if it should be 'to' or 'too' and didn't want to flaunt bad writing on my status. Casey- help me out here- I can never, ever remember which 2 to use when.... and you are the queen of English).

While the epitaph is true (and why, along with excellent genes, I will live to 100+), it is not how I define my whole life, just this minute. I think what I am going to do is to keep this idea in mind and compose these little lives as I go along- kind of a fun mind-game to keep me entertained.

My favorite epitaph from a book was 6 words: "loved to much, tried to hard" which was actually the epitaph for a dog, and I can't remember the books name except it was set in Nova Scotia, delt with the history of an immigrant seafaring family in the 1900's, and was slightly grim- and I cried buckets when the dog died. Does it to me every time.

So, some of my 6 word possibilities:

'Still haven't paid off student loans'

'Imagination is her source of creation'

'Curious mind, keeping her eyes peeled' (the family will know that 'keep your eyes peeled' is something we were always taught to do)

'Quiet on the outside, laughing within'

'Loved old stuff, hated to dust' (except I like to dust- just haven't the time for it)

'Ate everything except chittlins and jello' (truth)

This is so much fun to play with! I'm going to use it with my teachers this morning...and students...and I want to hear everyone elses 6 words...how fun that would be to collect. And then, find an image for the statement...I feel an art project idea coming on...serious, sad, funny, wise, wishful, despondent...so many possibilities

'But first, I have to work'

'work is play, I'm so lucky'

Worlds

2012-01-22T06:01:00.000-05:00

"Every Spirit builds itself a house; and beyond its house, a world; and beyond its world a heaven. Know then that the world exists for you: build, therefore, your own world."- Ralph Waldo Emmerson.

I found this quote on facebook this morning, posted by an old friend Susan Sims, who I have not seen in forever but who keeps close on facebook. (I love facebook by the way- it is the perfect social device for us introverts who like to read- and occasionally type). Anyway, Susan is a lovely spiritual woman who used to sing with Barbara and Jim back at COS long ago. This quote caught me unawares- it is new to me- and is feeding my hope/thoughts for this morning.

You see, yesterday was one big disaster~ the husband and I rarely fuss, but when we do we do it up righteously (and that is ok and healthy- if we didn't fuss, there would be things-beyond-fixing). It was mainly one of my major meltdowns over a combination of work/time/space/money/freedom and our rather dismal budget (don't even ask how much is left out of my paycheck each month- if we don't *eat* or buy gas...). Money winds me up like nothing else, and I was hitting the budget wall of 'I work all the time, we don't live extravagantly at all, I pay my bills, don't have any credit cards, we have some serious needs (house repairs, lawnmower, boots-) *and* I am at the top of my career as a professional with multiple degrees that have me in so much dept that....well....let's just say that someday I will be one of the over-educated homeless people selling art on streetcorners....and *still* a 'normal' life is out of reach.' argh. Mainly frustrated that no matter how hard I try, however good or slack a job I do, my paycheck remains at the mercy of the state. I was really, really, REALLY wound up.... and just melted down into an inferno of redheaded emotion. Things calmed down and became more copacetic (a 4 hour nap helped) and then we had auction time, in which I worked on student contacts for NCVPS on my phone (I have finally learned how to use texting correctly), drew about 6 pages in the sketchbook, and read 1 1/2 chapters of homework. Which was slightly annoying because it is a graduate school text that cost over $100, is paperback and about the size of two thick magazines stacked on top of each other, and is full of huge illustrations, ender pages with only a few sentences on them, and lack of....well, lets just say a book published in 2010 for graduate level students in technology should not have to explain that "email is an electronic means of delivering information between one or more people". Seriously? (uhoh...I am detecting some rage simmering up to the surface again).

Whew. Need to step back and refocus, because I didn't want this to turn into another bonfire. (which came from the word 'bonefire' by the way- which was the practice of burning the bones of meat-animals in order to dispose of excess bones and, as a side result, generate a deep black soot that is the pigment for the best black inks and paints. Ivory black is the top of that line- because not just any old bone, but ivory itself was burnt. But I digress.)

Now, back to spirits and houses and worlds and heavens~ wisdom and red glass insulators in the kitchen window. The insulators came from the auction last night, we collect them in a casual way- clear, aqua, pale green, blue. I had never seen red ones, but here they were- crafted into candlesticks, which is a good thing/ bad thing. Good because it trashed their value as collectibles so I acquired them (and something else, which will be another post) for $5.00, bad because I would of preferred them unstuck. But they are beautiful in the window- and the justification for raging about the budget then spending $5.00 for pleasure is that....well, I have no real justification for it. They are beautiful, they feed my spirit, and.... this is what happens. When I spend money that is out-of-the-budget, it is usually on the curious, the beautiful or something for art...and I do it rarely. The only other thing we bought last night was some metal for scrap- it's tinker season- so that will turn a bit of a profit. We spent 15.00 total, and Charles is working the smalls now, so all will be well.

And again, my brain has wandered off my original idea of writing and into the details of the moment. And rationalization. Anyway, during our fuss, the manz kept saying that 'all will be well' and I was very uncharacteristically negative, which eventually he got fed up with. (sometimes realistic is negative, but is there a value in that? not so much). What this quote this morning reminded me of is that our spirit does create our own reality, our own world- and our heaven or hell. If my spirit is spinning a world of negativity, anger, and frustration- then I am more likely to keep acting/responding that way, which impacts everything around me, which ripples out until I have created a bit of hell for everyone in my path. But if my spirit can be teased into positive thought and action, if I can visualize the light in the window, perhaps I will have the wisdom to realize that things are what I make it- and I *can* choose creative grace. Just as I can create a bit of hell on earth, I have the power to create a bit of my type of heaven~ and that to has a ripple effect.

At school this past week I have spent allot of time with my space- my classroom/office/storage/closet - and while it is normal to clean between semesters, it puzzled people (students, other teachers, our wonderful custodian) why I was doing so much. I was even asked if I was leaving or changing rooms. No, what I was doing- and I do it twice a year, every year, but people forget that- was re-enchanting the room. Turning the negative mojo that built up in December/early January before testing, to the positive. Creating order, establishing territory, changing just enough things to make it familiar but still new. This is important- it reconnects me to the space, it helps the kids who are finished with art for the year separate and move on, and it really does re-enchant it. It is a use of spirit to build a world that is shared with others, a world where hopefully I can create my own blue heaven.

Of actions and words

2012-01-20T06:58:00.000-05:00

There are a few things that I try to avoid discussing with most people, and they include: politics and religion. I avoid these because I have my own views, which I happily keep to myself as...well...they are different from most of those who voice-their-views constantly. Which is their right and privilege, but it is also my right and privilege not to listen. And to think that in a way, it is bad manners in certain circumstances. For being so liberal and casual, I'm all about manners.

But today I am going to beak my rule and explain why I put the 'Stop Sopa' sign up on the blog. Thing is, when asked to identify myself politically, I always respond with anarchist. Not as in the running around wildly burning and looting punk-rock anarchist that is portrayed by the media, but as in the viewpoint that anarchy is the result of ultimate freedom though practicing personal responsibility. This includes taking care of myself as an individual, and helping others because I *choose* to, am not made to. This also includes the freedom to make my own choices, accept the consequences of those choices good or ill without expecting anyone else to solve my problems. Unless they volunteer to. This political system would never work in reality, because there are always people who are not responsible, who whine when stupid actions end in stupid results, who blame everything and everyone without taking any positive action to correct the situation.

Now, in context with the stop Sopa movement, I *do* speak up when I feel that my actions are important and will make people think. SOPA is something that on the surface may sound like a good thing- stop online piracy act- but at the moment it is to broad. Like trying to water a flowerpot with a river- to much of something necessary is as bad as to little. As an artist and educator, I am aware of copy write issues and how they impact mass media, money and creators rights to make money off their works. However, I also believe in the freedom to share all information- creative and otherwise- in the lovely collective conscious of the web. I want *everyone* to be able to find/use/share without payment or penalty- because otherwise a price is put on knowledge/art/information that will instantly create an elitist grouping- those who can afford it, those who cannot. The mirror of history shows us how well that idea worked in the middle ages (otherwise known as the 'dark ages') because literacy was limited to only those in the Church, masons, and very few others. Even the nobility could not read or write for the most part........when you think of it in this matter, it becomes a bit tense. Seriously, take your average teenager. If they have to make the choice to shell out money for: a- a look at the CNN website (Time-Warner owns it, and supports SOPA), b- each reference site that they need for a class project (because SOPA would effectively wipe out lots of Wikipedia) or c- download a hot song to their ipod......guess which one most of them will choose? For the most part- the art, the social, the videos, the things that they identify with is what money will be spent upon while knowledge falls upon the back burner~ Money really does change everything.

Basically, as I told the kids, it comes to a point where you have to decide what kind of world you want to live in. If you choose to be responsible and take action on matters- no matter how small the action, no matter if it is only things that matter to you- then you are walking in your right direction. You are at least trying to have a say in it- but if you don't, well then, you are just a passenger on the bus.

Hellos Crow!

2012-01-19T05:12:00.000-05:00

Crow bag- in progress.

Winter is the time for sewing- I'm taking a bit of a break from drawing in my sketchbook to return to embroidery. I haven't embroidered seriously for quite awhile- and I don't count this as serious- but I have always kept sewing. A few stitches and charms onto my brown backpack (rescued from the lost and found at the end of last year- brand new, one of the sling types, a brand I could never afford). Lots of little random felt charms (I will post a photo of those at some point, when I found where I stashed them all)- basically the Turkish eyes, apples, hearts. And some practical stuff- a camera holder with a swallow and heart, an eyeglass case, a cell phone holder. (All of which I can't find now either- even though I used them for a bit~)

I have loved embroidery since Mother taught me how (another gift I owe her! She is where I inherited all the art from!) and have always designed my own work- all of which I have (that wasn't given away or sold). I even have things sewn on tiny scraps of cloth- I was fussed at because they weren't big enough to do anything with- but I have them still. (and still, they remain not big enough to do anything with- and also now to fragile). I have made crewel embroidery seasons (Mother has those- the fox, rabbit, unicorn and doves), a bright, funky 'club dino' denim jacket I embroidered for Grendel when he was a baby, the huge female figures with pomegranates that I did in college, a white work on the centers of antique doilies with tiny tiny tiny crystal beads and pearls. But this type is different- although I have done it before- and it is much more like sketching than painting.

Felt is a wonderful thing (as well as being super-trendy at the moment). It doesn't fray or shoot off loose threads, you can cut it into anyshape and it will hold its edges, you can steam it and it will tighten magically to secure the threads. (have to be careful though, as it can tighten to much and warp). I have been using just plain old 20 cents a sheet craft felt, and cotton DMC floss (I have a ton of it- there are always bags of it at the auction), some stray buttons and beads. Like I said, I started with the small charm things, just kind of playing around. Then I made the apple charm. Then a larger heart covered in white buttons that I have no idea what to do with- it is to heavy to sew onto anything, but is lovely. Then the crow- mostly done this past weekend when I was watching 'Rawhide' with the manz. (There is a lot to be said for old black and white Westerns that include a young Clint Eastwood- bad hair but handsome man). Anyway- the crow turned out bright and funny and I wanted to do something with it- so I dug out this olive messangerish bag that I've had. It's the bag I bought to replace my black MaggieBag, but it was swiftly replaced by my discovery of the brown backpack. (Stay with me- I know- it's a lot of bags to keep up with- I have a *ton* of bags....but then I settle on one and that is the one I use constantly). So- I put the crow on it. And then the heart/sun (I am obsessed with hearts now. In December it was cut paper snowflakes. I am regressing to grade school)- I'm not quite sure if I like the heart/sun, but it is only in progress and headed for more rays and swirls. There will be tree branches as well- maybe leaves, maybe not. It's just growing, but it is such fun to work quickly with felt, and bright colors, loose stitches and shiny stuff. I don't have to think or concentrate, I just sew- and watch Mr. Eastwood save the day.

sorry~

2012-01-18T04:08:00.002-05:00

A Tale of Two Boots

2012-01-16T05:11:00.000-05:00

Mr. Owens Boots

Let me tell you about Mr. Owens~ or rather, let's look at his boots- they tell the story by themselves. Mr. Owens~ also known as the manz, the husband and various other things, but always Mr. Owens- is a man of steady tastes. He likes the practical, sensible and sturdy- the known and familiar, the comforting. His chair, his wife, netflix, chocolate (no fancy or dark chocolate- plain is the best), icecream (again, plain chocolate please), cookies (what flavor? you guessed it! plain chocolate- although store bought branches out to oreos. Not oreo-oreos, but Walmart oreos, and never a double stuff in sight), cheese (American and square), bread (white), hotdogs (beef), classic rock, his stripy afghan, Turrello, home and his boots.

The boots are a measure of loyalty- he has a specific favorite type that is hard to find but once acquired is worn to beyond-the-bone (as in the picture above). It is time for a new pair (you think?) but that is not as easy as it may look- he got a pair for Christmas, but they were waterproof so back they went. (Waterproof apparently doesn't let your feet breathe). So, the requirements for the perfect pair of boots are: tan leather, not suede, light colored soles. 8" uppers, with lace holes not side grommets, not waterproof, no steel-toe, nothing fancy, just good plain boots. Which are amazingly hard to find- and nothing else will do. So I am still searching~

But in the meantime, his dedication to his likes is quite comforting. I never have to worry about him straying, or getting the mid-life wanderlust that so many fall prey to- I am like his boots. Just the right qualities, just the right fit, comfortable- which is amazing seeing as we are opposites in so many ways. In thinking of his list above, I am opposite in many ways- I like new foods, adventures, change....but we are exactly the same about boots. When I find the perfect pair (which are my beloved pink Doc Martins) I wear them exclusively until they fall apart... they are *my* boots and I'll have no other. Of course they are different (what other woman of my age wears pink combat boots with everything?) and make me stand out from the herd- but they are also stable, comfortable, warm. Just like my beloved Mr. Owens.

Rose Red

2012-01-15T05:47:00.001-05:00

Red roses outside kitchen window at Tanglewood,

early summer.

In the tale of Snow White and Rose Red, I am decidedly Rose Red- for the most part. The basic story is this: Once upon a time there were two sisters, Snow White and Rose Red, who lived with their Mother in a cottage in the woods. The sisters loved each other dearly~ Snow White loved the arts of the hearth and the garden. Rose Red loved the wildwood, learning the names of the plants and the languages of the creatures. One winter night a large bear came to the door of the cottage- at first frightened, the sisters listened while the bear explained that it was just looking for warmpth and shelter during the long winter. They gave it entry, and it settled by the fire the whole winter through. In the Spring, however, the bear stirred and went off to gaurd his treasure, leaving the sisters behind. The sisters too ventured into the woods, exploring the world as it awakened again. On their travels they often encountered a dwarf- not the jolly kind of dwarf, but the lean and cranky kind, obsessed with treasures of the earth. The dwarf was often in difficulty due to his long beard (which was constantly getting stuck in things) and his unwillingness to set down his treasures long enough to get himself unstuck. But because the sisters were compassionate as well as practical-sensible, they came to his rescue clipping the beard loose with their scissors. Then one day, when the dwarf was stuck yet again, the bear appeared. The dwarf went into a frenzy, trying frantically to convince the bear to eat the sisters instead of him. The bear, of course, recognized the dwarf as the treasure-thief and whapped him upside the head, killing him quite dead. Spells were broken, the bear transformed into a prince, and married Snow White. Sometimes Rose Red gets to marry his brother, sometimes she stays in the cottage in the wood, sometimes she just hangs out forever with random bears.

I am Rose Red, not only because I am red, but because I love the wild wood, the creatures and the plants and knowing the names of everything. I love to create and collect, and could care less if the yarden is a tangle- thus the final name of our cottage: 'Tanglewood'. While I do have some domestic capability- I clean, and do laundry when the mood takes me, cooking is the domain of the manz, and I'm not the best housekeeper in the world. I get distracted by thinking, then I go off to make something, explore something, do something. Likewise, unlike Snow White, I am not a natural hostess~ despite a stint in "White Gloves and Party Manners" I am often rather awkward socially~ I have to be *doing* something rather than conversation. I never know where to look otherwise, and am just able to barely manage small talk...but if I am occupied with sketching or embroidery (which is sketching with a needle), I can listen and speak easier and with greater depth. It frees me somehow.

My best friend, Melissa, is Snow White. She is master of cooking and sewing, and can converse naturally and freely with anyone. She knows the garden, the secrets of the bees and is blessed with magical tomatoes. The language of spices and smells, tastes and the subtle differences in honey~ how to construct a garment from bits of leftover fabric and well-loved clothing. How to spin and twist yarns together into long bright scarves, how to make monsters and magic from scraps. The arts of the hearth are hers.

We follow our own archetypes (I've been thinking of archetypes allot lately), and find ourselves in the old stories. Our questions, our mirror selves- I am not cut out for the roles of traditional fairy-tale princesses, or even Red Riding Hood. (As Rose Red I would befriend the wolf, even if I came to harm). I am not the character that ends up with the Prince and the Castle (btw: the other night I had a dream that Barbie was married to Bill Gates. They lived in the Castle entry to Storybook Forrest in Pa.) I am the character that stays in the wood, that evolves into what Campbell calls the 'magical helper'- the one who aids the hero towards their goal. A different kind of mystery.

Queen Of Wands

2012-01-14T06:09:00.001-05:00

This is *not* from the Rider-Waite Tarot, but I like it

"Don't wait for help; you can perform magic on your own" this wasn't my fortune, it was Melissa's horoscope, but she sent it to me and I am happily appropriating it as a guiding voice. And so today I am going to speak of me, and magic and the Queen of Wands.

Long ago I learned how to read Tarot, using the old Rider-Waite deck that was passed along the family. Rider-Waite originally published the cards in 1907, but this deck isn't nearly that old- but it does date from 1959 (date of publication, not sure when we acquired it). I collected many decks over the years, giving away some of them, keeping some, using others for art projects or bookmarks. But the Rider-Waite is the one I use for reading, and it is carefully wrapped with a purple cord and soft cotton, stored in the sandalwood lined courtship box on the mantel. All these precautions are necessary, not just for reasons of mojo, but to preserve the cards from the oils and acids of the skin and air, insects and light. Yet some of them have been damaged from years of use, but they work the same, non-the-less.

I don't use them very often anymore- although I love to read them, I can never read for myself. Never been able to... I'm certain that they lay out just fine- but I am unable to be objective. I read for others though, and have read for profit in the Silver Dove and by request, I have read in bars in New Orleans, in parks, in coffee shops and hotels, and I taught Ariel how to read them for her senior project at school. I don't like reading for money although that is always a temptation- I like reading when people ask me to, and when I am in the mood. Same thing for palms- with even rarer instances of reading- I *have* to be in the groove for palms, otherwise I just see a hand. Nothing else. But then sometimes it comes on strong and I can see the story- and there is a compulsion to tell it, to others, to myself. Magic.

There are lots of explanations for the cards- Tarot cards date back to the middle ages and beyond, in different formats. Mainly as a game that became a prompt for interpretation. The symbols and names describe the archetypes and hero's journey as studied by Jung and Campbell, resonate within all of the stories that we tell each other, and the rituals and celebrations of our lives. The suits are easy enough- they are the old alchemical elements of earth, air, fire, water, found in their forms across all cultures. The magic of the deck can be found in the mathematical theory, supported by physics- both chaos physics and string. How it works is that a random selection of a set is placed in order- constructing a narrative. The selection of the cards can be attributed to magic, fate, fortune, the collective conscious, luck of the draw, the unconscious self - however you chose to see it. The skill of the reader is in decoding the images and creating a narrative that applies to the client. It's like writing a story for that person, at that time. Creative insights from another to help you see your situation anew.

Yet, yet I also believe in the magic of it, because that's what I do.

The Queen of Wands is my card at the moment, the card that signifies me. There is a prescriptive means of signification- according to coloration of the person, personality and response, inclination. Oddly enough, this usually fits- more archetypes. Wands are the symbol for fire and energy- not the element that I mostly am associated with- and yet, it is. I am full of creative energy, intellectual energy- the ability to question, think,discourse, write, create. My natural coloring is red hair and hazel eyes (of the green-brown variety), freckles everywhere, tall and large and strong but not particularly graceful or athletic. The queen of wands is shown with sunflowers, a cat, the season of summer, a throne of lions. The land behind her is barren- all of the green growth is contained in her wand and the sunflower she holds. The magic she makes on her own- and thus we come full circle.

Love Spoken Here

2012-01-13T05:06:00.000-05:00

Today is Mother's birthday! Happy, happy birthday! I hope that I am still as smart and beautiful when I am 91....I know I will live to be at least 100, and I want to live as gracefully as she does- which has been true for all of her life. Style, grace, the ability to create surroundings that are aesthetic *and* authentic. Not a put on style to suit current trends or tastes, not someone else's idea of elegance or chic, but a true display of her personal style. Everything selected and placed with care and intention, but warm and resonant. It is difficult to describe in words, but rather than a house where everyone is afraid to use the towels, or a house that looks like a recent tornado swept through, or a house that is 'delivered' directly from rooms-to-go, a house that is a home. A home with interesting objects, family treasures, comfortable seating in an arrangement that works for everything (conversations, reading, tv watching), art and books and plants and bits of all of us. The home is her artform, and she has always done it well.

When I write in the mornings- because that is my time- I sit at my grandfather's desk in the studio. I drink my coffee out of a plain white mug (just like one of hers! champion of white dishes), and on my desk are a collection of treasures. Baskets for mail. A ceramic pot that says 'Ashes of Problem Students' given to me by the Raynor brothers long ago, a brass ink pot and quill from the manz, a beautiful dried flower picture from Romania, a small dragon from Oaxaca Mexico, an antique Krispy Kreme diner cup holding fossils from Sister Sue's, one of my small paintings, a dish with a fish on it that has been in the family forever, and the tin in the picture. It's like everyone is right here with me when I write- (and there are other things- on the desk, on the wall, everyone is *right here*).

The tin is special, beyond special. Mother made it long, long ago- it must of been in the 60's or 70's because I seem to remember it being on the desk at Headacher. It is a simple tin- from something? coffee? hard candy? tea? Painted black and collaged with clippings from the Abby Press. (How amazing is it that I remember the name of the catalog? It was a (what we might call new-ageish) spiritual store that sold religious and spiritual texts, signs, cards etc. I really suspect that Mother got it because of all the lovely text~

Anyway, this tin cheers me and reminds me every morning with the words: "Love Spoken Here. Home is where the Heart is. Be Happy, Be Beautiful- live fully each moment, cherish others and yourself. Love One Another, Bless this house O Lord we pray, keep it safe both night and day. God's peace be in this house. Lord turn the routines of work into celebrations of love. Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure that you are. I love you." Good blessings to greet the day with, good words to remember- and selected with love.

Made with care and enough craftmanship to last for...a very long time. (Which is not easy. Trust me- working on tins is much more difficult than it looks and this has nary a bubble or loose edge even after all these years and all its travels).

The legacy is not just in the words- though they are important- the legacy is in the creation of something meaningful and beautiful from nothing. The ability to create something at the moment that lasts forever- that carries with it a bit of spirit of the time and place and creator. So today Mother, along with Birthday Wishes and Love, I am thanking you for showing me that magic- giving me the gift to pull the useful and the beautiful and the wise into the most humble objects. To leave a voice that every day says: I love you.

Love in the Land of Chocolate

2012-01-11T06:49:00.000-05:00

Mousies by Sam

Cookies by Bre

I hadn't a chance to post the past few days- busy working, working, working on school stuff (start of new classes at ECU and NCVPS) plus finals at Trask- but this morning I actually have a few moments of 'free time' (cue laughter) and I really want to write. Trask has been stressful the past few weeks- before break and afterwards- for some reason there is administrative chaos and a combination of 'cracking down' while still attempting to bribe the kids into doing well on exams by promising to relax some rules in the future. Needless to say, I have managed to continuously screw up here and there- (my kids are too loud, I use to much paper, why are the ROTC kids playing RISK when they are finished with their work?, the T-shirt design needs edited yet again because the hands of our mascot might be interpreted as being a 'gang gesture' so could you just draw him without hands? seriously. seriously.) So, add to this Mr. Owens trips to the dr. and worry over that (and he broke his little toe the other night as well- avoided sleeping Max and ran it into either the wall or my apothecary cabinet)...and the endless appeals to ECU to please, please, please continue my financial aid for my last three classes- and I have been quite stressy. And unfortunately it shows- my class room is a mess, I've been snappish with the kids, just not myself.

Everyone knows though that I am comforted by food..... and they have brought me gifts the past two days. A chocolate apple (which I ate before I could take a picture!). Mousies made out of Hershey's kisses, chocolate covered cherries and cookies. Heart shaped cookies that spelled out "We love you Mama Owens" (yes, some of those got eaten before I could take a picture- and I did share them!). I love that my kids care about me, and know that I love them. Beyond the gift of food, the idea of how I play into their lives- I'm not their mother, but they see me as maternal. Not a softy, but someone who cares about what they do and how they do it, and I try to listen to what they say, respect who they are. Teach them how to see and create and learn and express- and I try to live up to the title of respect. When they call me Mother, Mom, Mama (and yes, a few call me Grandma), it is a term of respect- I don't know if it is a local cultural thing, or a Southern thing, or common now- (I would never *dream* of calling my teachers Mother! or of talking to them...) but familiar titles are used here to indicate relationships. When someone (of any age) is introduced as brother/sister, it could mean a family member, a religious title, or close friend. The titles of Mother/Father/Grandparent can again mean family member, church elder or....basically...'parental figure' in an archetypal sense. An Aunt or an Uncle is either a family member, distant relative, respected member of the community. Abulita is the Spanish for Grandmother but has become used by everyone as a title for the oldest female in the school. (which is not me, and who is not Spanish, but *all* the kids call her Abulita). Cousins are usually cousins, but 'cuz' is associated with gangs/friendships as well..... As for their blood relatives, of course people are referred to by their normal titles, but you can tell that families are fractured because of the terms of 'biologicals', 'sperm donors', 'baby daddy/mama'...and the convoluted titles that somehow describe that your 'parent' is your Mother's second husbands third wife's boyfriends aunt. I think we are looking to find families in the community because the old definition of family doesn't work for everyone- and yes, I do think of my 'kids' as my children. And I love them dearly.

(The manz also comforted me with manzsketti and garlic bread...my diet is doomed...)

Night Light

2012-01-08T06:29:00.000-05:00

Lava Lamp, with glitter.

Night lights. Let me tell you about night lights, and beacons, and keeping the dark at bay. When I was little (well, up until I went to college the first time) I required night lights as well as my little pillow and Lassie dog to sleep. The pillow and Lassie were for comfort and safety, the night lights because I was afraid of the dark. Well, not the dark, but the things I saw in the dark (real or imagined? both, I think- I am a firm believer in spirits, and I know there were some about, and I hadn't yet made my peace with knowing them- crazy as that may sound, but that is a story for another day.) Anyway- nightlights. And it wasn't just me- but for practical/sensible reasons like safety, being able to navigate in the half-life of sleep without waking up to a bright light, whatever reason- my parents strongly believed in nightlights as well. In the bathroom, the kitchen, sometimes the hall ways- bits of a glow to guide you.

After enduring roomates, romances, marriages and children I developed the reverse of needing a nightlight. I can sleep anywhere, it is true- I am a natural, a champ, would be professional if there was such a thing- but I *do* have my preferences and demands. No tv/radio/music please (especially tv on in the room I am trying to sleep in- that drives me nuts.), no night lights. Now, I love sleeping in the sun, or by a night window- I love high hotels where the city lights up the sky- but no night lights. I love sleeping with a votive candle burning (one of the tall Mexican candles in glass, quite safe, preferably the one to the Virgin of Guadalupe which is pale pink and scented faintly of roses). But no electric night lights. I like the dark, dark rooms, looking about at the shadows when I wake between dreams.

Not so Mr. Owens. He loves his night lights. He does respect the sanctity of the bedroom and my need for night, but the rest of the house is happily low-lit, fortunately with beautiful lamps collected from the auction. In the living room there are two art deco style small bronze and stained glass lamps, and a similar lamp in the studio. By the back door there is the reproduction turtle amber and bronze lamp for letting the dogs out. And the plain-old stove light is always on for that part of the kitchen. A candle in a jar for the bathroom- this one is scented like peppermint and snow. There is a lamp in the rose room, but that one isn't usually on unless we have company or I have been working in there. But the all-star, must be on every night, doesn't match anything but love it anyway, is the purple glitter lava lamp on the tv.

This lamp, this incredible purple glitter lava lamp was acquired for a dollar/part of a trade during one of our roadshows in the summer. I intended it to go to Grendel (thinking hip guy pad) but it only made it as far as our TV. I will admit that it is beautiful and fun to watch at night- the purple, the glitter swirls, the little light stars cast out from the bottom and how they suit the background (which you can't see in the picture- our big blue barnstar is on the wall, and above it is the folk-art airplane- they look like part of the night sky). During the day the lamp is not-so-pretty, but we love it none the less. It's a bit of magic in the night- bright and warm.

January Sunshine

2012-01-07T19:29:00.000-05:00

Red Chairs outside the auction house- old photo.

This is not a recent photo- actually, it is a few years old. But it has red chairs and sunshine, and today was one of those bright January southern days where the temperature is much to warm for winter and it feels like it should be spring- but it's not time yet, so everything gets a bit tired by the end of the day. Like me. I woke up full of ideas and creativity and energy- and spent some of it, made a bit of a thing, then had to nap. When I nap it is long (always two hours) and a true deep sleep with heavy dreaming. I was worried about sleeping so much- because I'm taking Ritalin now (which helps immensely with focusing) but it is supposed to keep you up. They prescribe it for narcolepsy for heavens sake! Yet, yet I am usually in bed before nine and sound asleep. And if I am off during the day, I have my nap- if I am not off, I don't have it but stumble around brain dead for a bit. I asked Dr. Lori about my sleeping so much- she thinks not to be worried because everything health wise tests fine (except I'm a bit heavy)- and it's not being physically tired (as in achy muscle tired) but just *sleepy*- it comes on in waves. Her thought is that I exhaust myself rapidly mentally, because my mind is everywhere, and I'm multitasking, and I do brain-things very quickly- read, draw, create, type- so I just have to turn off and reboot every few hours like the old computers had to. On the plus side of things, I am thinking up all sorts of wonderful things to do- which is good because all this excess brain stuff is being channeled into thinking/creating/learning/teaching instead of worrying/obsessing. At least for the most part.

An Alter Ego~

2012-01-06T07:11:00.001-05:00

Hilda by Duane Bryers

Finally a pin-up girl I can identify with! I discovered the old Hilda pinups, and I like her- she is not small, cheerful, beautiful, goofy and a redhead. Of course, I won't be trapsing about the world with only a bikini made of flowers (she tends to like those) or wear slippers-with-heels when handwashing (!) my long johns...but still, it is reassuring that other people find this attractive.

I fret about my weight constantly, and I do try- but then again, when I am feeling stressed I turn to food. (which is better than some other things- at least food is legal, cheap and does the job). I know that I will never be skinny- but I don't want to get any bigger- just back down to a comfortable Hilda-esh size. And to shape things up a bit. Of course, I would like to have a magic solution to get there- because I love food and dislike exercise- but that's not going to happen so I have to do the work. Eat less, cut out snacks, walk more blah,blah,blah. My friend Donna, the band teacher, is doing the Dukan diet, which is Atkinsish...mostly meat. I could do that but.... meat is expensive. And I'm lazy. Or something. Or unmotivated. When I talk to Dr. Lori, or my new therapist (hum... Dr Penland? Mike-the-Shrink? what am I going to call him?) they agree that I should lose some weight to be healthy, and that it would help the self-esteem, but at the same time they both use the phrase "you have enough on your plate" meaning that I have enough things to work on and stress about that I don't need this on the front burner right now. And they are right, but I also don't need to put more of the weight on, and that calls for awareness and moderation.

So what I am going to do is what I do best- think about it, make some art about it- that helps me to reflect- figure out what I really want to do and how I am going to get there. I tend to have the world-view habit of letting things go then trying to fix everything at once...and that is not practical-sensible-doable. One thing at a time, one thing at a time, and in the meanwhile, I'll think about Hilda.

Strange Fruit

2012-01-05T05:40:00.000-05:00

Under the surface, everything is different. Things change- and you have to let them, learn to love the change, accept them as they are, not as you thought they would be. This applies to just about everything, and life is so much easier if you just let go of insisting that reality meets expectations. You might be surprised at the results~ not that it is always an easy thing to do.

Yesterday, I learned this threefold. First, Mr. Owens: he had to have surgery to remove a skin cancer (basal) from his face... he is *not* a doctor person. This wasn't a light burn-off like the others- but a very large, serious place. Which meant he was anxious and up all night (eventually I gave up and joined him about 3am), and we went in at 8- he dozed in the car, but that was about it. We were at the doctors until about 1, he was a trooper (with a little help from more than one Valium - the 'numbing' shots were the worst part). Other than the pain and the surgery, we actually had fun~ even though he doesn't like going to the doctor, once he is there he is a good patient. (if he likes the doctor. otherwise, he leaves.) Anyway, he was teasing the nurses, the doctor, me- asking a zillion questions, very polite and patient even when in obvious pain. The nurses kept apologizing for hurting him, and he would say 'that's ok honey, no need to apologize, you are doing your job, and you are doing it well'. We watched lobby-tv, which was the TODAY show without sound as the radio was on- and just talked and talked and laughed about all sorts of things. I was there throughout the whole process, documenting, feeling both anxious that he was hurting and curious about the procedure. I'm not squeamish at all, and would of been good at medical illustration stuff~ They did remove a huge cancer- about 3" x 2" in surface, but fortunately not deep like originally feared. Then they sewed him up- which consisted of having to cut suture lines along the 'smile line' of the mouth and up towards the top of the cheek bone- he will have a dashing scar shaped like < . Many subdermal stitches, and about 30+ to close on the top. The beard was saved entirely! (The doctor was amazed at the beard- which was older than he was. We had a very young doctor, 3 years out of school, but very vey good). So what I learned from this was patience, endurance, kindness to those even when they are hurting you- that I married a kind, brave man who still gets scared. And that's ok.

Second thing, was during those early morning hours I convinced him to watch Tangled with me. He started to , then went off to soak in the tub- came back in a bit for the finish of it. Tangled is the newish Disney move about Rapunzel. I have always loved the story of Rapunzel- at least the first part- I always found the second part to be disturbing/confusing because it has been edited and redited that I am still searching for the original. The one that seems true, and not a pastiche of another tale. Tangled *barely* resembles the story. It has a tower, the hair, Mother Gothel (that looks like Cher with curly hair) and that is it... and at first, I resented it. Disney has a way with fairytales, restructuring them to suit the archetypes of America- in this case, the brave blonde princess (who is still a bit ditsy), the manipulative witch focused on age and beauty, the irresponsible young man that has a heart of gold... and they live happily ever after. Pretty much. The couple is rewarded with love and reinstatement to the castle (even though at the end she has cut her hair and transformed into a brunette), the witch is suitably punished - turning old, falling from the tower, hitting the ground and becoming dust. I was not happy with Disney's version- it was so very far from the original- but after watching it and reflecting and thinking- I can like it for what it is. I want to think some more about it, and about the original story, and how it translates across time, but I am willing to give it a chance. I need to learn that it is ok for stories to have happy endings.

Thirdly, it is me. I am a strange beast. I'm not so good at certain things, and I need 'think time' to process every day. I was up with the manz in the morning, and at the doctors all day, and then home again. I expected to install him on the couch, baby him a bit, let him sleep off the pain, get some work done and maybe have time to play a bit on the computer (I play with words and pictures, like I'm doing now~). No such luck. He gets so highly wound up, and was so physically stressed that he *could not sleep*. No matter that he had been up for over 24 hours (car naps don't count), had several valiums (around 2) to make it through the procedure, followed by his pain pill at home, ice pack, ice cream, nice cold drinks with straws... he could not wind down. He tried the couch, the bed with Evie playing movies, the recliner with Netflix, the bed again..... eating, not eating, drinking, not drinking, another half a pill, talking to friends on the phone retelling the story...nada. no dice. Awake (yes a bit stumbly and slurry- that due mainly to his face being extremely swollen and black and blue)...but not relaxing. I started getting grumpy, because I wanted to take care of him, wanted to get some work done, and yes- I wanted some play/relaxing time as well. He finally laid down in the bed, I switched to the big computer and got done mostly what I needed to (and which I should be doing right now, but I want to write)...and I bounced *way* off my diet with an icing rose, coconut m&m's, leftover ham with cheese- I eat when I am tired and frustrated and guilty and I was all three- tired from being up, frustrated that I had stuff to do, guilty because I was snappish and not as nurturing as I should of been....but he is a forgiving soul and I tried my best. I finally gave up at 7, he got up and I went to bed- and slept like a rock. I am much better this morning (even though I have "tight-brain" which means I am a bit stressy because I have things to do/think about that I am avoiding- money being one of the major ones)... but I have school today, managed to wash my hair this morning, and I feel better for writing this. Thank-you for listening~

Collect

2012-01-03T04:49:00.000-05:00

I am a collector- that is my true nature- as well as a creator. I love few things better than searching and finding, sorting and naming. Even when I was small, I knew the names of the dinosaurs and diligently hunted for bones in the gravel pasture road at Headacher. A bit older, and I collect seashells (not an easy task when living in Pennsylvania) created books with their names, data, carefully drawn pictures- dragging home oyster shells from restaurants, living for the days on the beach in California so I could scrabble among the rocks and the kelp. Fortunately, my parents indulged me totally in this- waking up at odd hours to take me to the beach so I wouldn't miss the tide~ never saying 'that's to stinky' when I would drag something home. I collect other things as well- bones and stones and books and folk art and curiosities- they have magic for me- but the shells are special. I dream about them.

On New Year's Day, I was out playing with the yarden, trimming up the crepe myrtles all full of resolutions. On my birthday we burnt the ditch and part of the front yard, making way for new growth. The unintended victims of our ditch burn I found when I was cleaning the ditches, the small pile of shells gathered in the tea bowl above. Two different types of ram's horns and another, longer snail- I don't know their names because I haven't studied land snails much- but finding them was like a promise. A promise that wherever I am, the things I love are to- you just have to look a bit harder, in different places, and be willing to find them in different forms.

A Million Flowers Keep Me Warm

2012-01-02T07:00:00.000-05:00

The weather has finally begun to turn- yesterday was bright, in the 70's, lovely, and I spent the afternoon in the yarden cutting away excess growth to make room for the new. I moved the bottle tree to the front yard, temporarily I thought, but I rather like it there- it's beautiful and unusual, even though they are becoming trendy. That's ok, the spirits don't care- important thing is that they have homes that sparkle in the sun. (If you don't know about bottle trees, the real reason for them, they are to protect the spirits of the dead. In African legend, the dead wander the earth for three years waiting for judgement. During that time they can spy on you and record your actions for use as a bargaining chip during judgement- "If you think *I* was bad, you should see what so-and-so is up to! Let me tell you~". The spirits can also be trapped and manipulated by evil bokor (magicans). In order to keep the spirits safe, they are given homes- traditionally Knissi or Govi, but in the American South that became the bottle tree. The spirits are attracted to the colors, the sparkle and most importantly, the head shape- and they snuggle in for their three years. From this, it is said that bottle trees give safe harbor for any lost souls, keeping folks from being haunted and keeping the souls safe. While this is an African/African-American tradition, there are similar stories all over the world- things hung in trees, the use of glass, providing a place for rest.)

On our bottle tree- I have different colors of bottles, because of the way I make it- my favorite bottles are the dark cobalt blue. (Which is why I insisted on finishing the wine-that-gives-me-a-headache. I don't waste things, and I loved the bottle). Uncle Jacks bottle is that color- (yes, I have bottles for people. I don't know if they use them or not, but it makes me feel good) the same color that is in the background of the afghan above- the afghan with the paperweight/milliflora design.

Milliaflora means a million flowers, and is a type of glass making where rods are grouped then cut to make flower patterns. The milliflora is then used in paperweights, jewelry, objects of art, small designs. Lovely stuff. Mother made this afghan for me long, long ago- it is at least as old as Grendel, I'm thinking a bit older. I always loved the colors, the patterns, the feeling of being wrapped in flowers caught in glass. (That may not sound comfy, but it is-- rather how I imagine a spirit safe in a bottle tree must feel). I remember her making this- it might of been during a visit, or even when I was still at home- sitting in her chair, crocheting away while Daddy watched TV (and ice cream. I must include the ice cream, part of their nightly ritual and there was always some for the dogg- Heidi and later, Ginger). Mother never had idle hands, she was always making the most beautiful things. Embroideries, afghans, letters~ her art is what made me fall in love with creating, with threads and yarns and papers- even though I never caught on to crochet. How to see pattern and design and blend threads to create beauty, how to be patient and let the art evolve on its own. And always, always making things for others- always. Personally, I am lucky enough to have several of her creations- the milliflora, two fisherman styles (one in beige, one in white), the blankets that were Grendels when he was a baby (one light weight, one heavier), bright zigzags made from leftovers (Charles has claimed that one), a plain heavy double lap sized made for Uncle Jack- probably others. I know Grendel has his, a masculine solid square pattern, and I lost one (the huge grey and maroon afghan) to a fire long ago. (It fell from the loft onto a heater during the night...I was lucky- a lesser work would of gone up in flames, but this afghan was so heavy that the top smothered out the fire though the bottom burnt through- it saved my life, I am sure of it). This one though- this one is my favorite, and I bring it out every winter when the weather changes, for it keeps me safe and warm.

LIttle Birds

2012-01-01T06:04:00.000-05:00

Happy New Years!

I'm feeling very hopeful about this year- I have all sorts of the usual resolutions, with the usual reasons and expectations and dose of first of the year resolve. I will list them in a bit~ but for now, a word or two. Many, many of us make resolutions every year, then break them, then resolve to not make resolutions, then make them again. Many of us may view them as negative things, unreasonable, unattainable, and for some folks that may be so. I know that I have thought that, and wonder why I 'set myself up' like this year after year...and then, I thought again.

When I talk about resolutions with my kids at school, I explain that a resolution is a promise to yourself. While it may include other people, it is basically a promise to do something that is primarily for you- to make yourself feel better, create a change, set a goal. And then I had them make resolutions, which I am planning to give back later, and I took them home and read them over. The usual standard resolutions: lose weight, get in shape, do better at school, be nicer, quit smoking. Then the "I'm a teenager" type resolutions: smoke more pot, party more, do something outrageous. Then the heartbreaking resolutions- be a better mother, apologize to my parents, tell the police what happened, stop hurting myself. I promised the kids I would keep these confidential, and I will. I will also let them know that I am right here if they need me. That's what I can do-

and I don't know what is serious and what is not, the point is they stopped and reflected for a moment. And that is important for everyone, be they two or twenty or two hundred. (and under two. I think babies know more than we think they do- just in a different way- but that is another story.)

One of my former students had posted on facebook that they think resolutions are silly, because today is just another day, no different from yesterday or tomorrow, and that if you think that a certain *time* is going to magically, suddenly, transform your life you are wrong. That transformation takes hard work. I respect his comment, because it has a truth to it, and he has lived through and made this transformation happen in his life- (brief story: this is the same kid that OD'ed in my class one day- while I was being observed- and was hauled off to the hospital. After rehab and life, he has turned out more than ok- he is grown up, an adult with a job, a wife, children- he is a good dad- but he had hard, hard work to do. and I respect that). Back to the resolutions though- While I acknowledge that truth, I also respect the tradition of resolutions and what they do for us: they make us pause and reflect. They give us a chance, every year, to recreate ourselves. To try harder, try again, have hope that *this time* there will be a change. This year, everything will be ok. And that is a precious, precious thing.

Yesterday I spent time in the city with my boy, and time at home with the manz. The boy and I talked and shopped (gift cards! hooray for new paint!) and over indulged in delightful edibles (big Chinese, sushi, mochi, raspberry candy from Germany. We love strange foods...). I found the delightful little bird above in World Market- marked down from holiday, further marked down because of the broken beak, and marked down even more because I had my birthday coupon. I had seen this little bird months before, and could not afford it, but fell in love with it- and somehow it waited for me. Broken a bit, but waiting and precious never the less. Last night the manz and I watched comedians and laughed, ate leftovers sent by his mother (ham and cake-from-church-with the kind of icing I love and everyone else hates. The thick heavy sugary traditional birthday cake kind of icing. yummmm). I played with my sketchbook, drank a glass of New Years Wine (even though it gives me a headache. But it was from the local vineyard, is delicious stuff that I had bought this fall because it was in a blue bottle...I don't waste things, even if they give me a headache, which is another lesson in itself. Manz is no help in this, because he doesn't drink except very, very rarely, his vice is chocolate and cigarettes.) I did my best to stay up, but folded at 10. The midnight guns of the neighbors woke me up long enough to say 'rabbit, rabbit, rabbit'....then back into the warm nest.

I am grateful that I have a warm nest, a happy home, a true love, a child grown. I am grateful that I have a family, friends, students- that I am creative and love to learn. I am grateful that thinking is fun, that I love teaching, that we can give a good life to our doggs and Mr. Turrello. I am grateful for all that I have done, all that I have seen, all that I have been- the good and the bad, the person who I am turning out to be.

I am grateful that today there is a new promise, a new hope for the all of us.

The great 48

2011-12-30T07:26:00.000-05:00

Today is my birthday, my start of the new year. I am full of resolve and resolutions, reflections and distractions- I want to do so many things. I want to write everyone a letter, telling them my truths- how much they are appreciated and loved, how sorry I am for being disconnected, how they are part of my life even if it is not realized. I want to write a letter to myself, about the same things, about defining who I am and who I have been and who I may yet be.

Today, today I am forty-eight years old. I am married, I have one child who is grown, I live in a tumbledown cottage in an overgrown yarden with two doggs and a cat. I eat too much, work too much, yet feel guilty for not working enough- because I get distracted with knowledge and end up side tracked into all sorts of things. I love stories, food, sleeping- because my sleep is full of dreams. My dreams are like other realities- you are all there, off and on, and there is adventures, and places, making things, thinking things, conversations, food and drink and music and lovely smells. It is strange, because I love you all- family, friends, students- so much that you are part of my unconscious, and I forget that I need to connect consciously as well. And sometimes it is difficult to connect, to find the words to say in person, in conversation, because it is so easy to just talk about the trivial or not talk at all- I have difficulty in communicating sometimes, it is hard to be 'normal' in groups, join conversations...one on one I am fine, but give me a group and I shut up. Unless I am speaking in an 'official' role- as a teacher or student- then I am fine holding the floor. I have no fear of public speaking in front of a crowd- but put me in the crowd and I vanish into the wall paper. Odd.

Sometimes writing is hard to- but I love it. I like to type much better than write by hand, and I love the format of the internet- the quick updates on facebook, which are like fleeting emotions and glimpses into everyones lives. I like the emails- the letters that let me know what is going on. I love (and am currently obsessed) by the new toy Pintrest- because I can collect images, organize and sort them, *show* others how I think- I'm visual and this is so so so fun.....I worry about over posting, pinning to many things, and then I think- why not? If they don't want to see it, just unfollow me.... choices, choices. I wish Mother could use the internet- she would love making design boards...it's almost like a portable sketchbook for information-

So back to the blog. And I know that I am rambling a bit and not making much sense this morning, but I have to allow myself to say, 'that's ok'. Write for yourself first- selfish as that may sound- and if others want to read it, so be it. I want to return to the blog, to sharing my thoughts and what goes on~ if I write in a narrative, it is easier to communicate than other wise... but yet, today the words are coming on all blocky and strange. I just want you to know that all is well, and that I am working my way back home. (metaphorically- in truth, I haven't gone anywhere....but my mind has been 'elsewhere'.)

love you all.

The Edge of the Earth

2011-12-04T07:50:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone~ long time without a visit, a chat, a shared cup of tea. Or coffee. I owe everyone (and I mean *everyone*) an apology for falling off the edge of the earth for awhile. I tend to do this sometimes- I haven't for quite a while, but I did this year- especially this fall. I'm working my way back, and this- this bit of writing today- is part of that start. No excuses, just explanations. That's all I've got.

Hum. This isn't as easy to write about as it seems when I am in the car, thinking and driving- I wish I could put all of my mind onto the page then. Now it just feels trite, vainglorious and confused- but none the less, once started I continue on. And that, my friends, is the problem.

For a long time I was independent and blessed with success resulting from working hard and focusing. It wasn't easy exactly, but it wasn't hard. This year has been hard. I don't know if I have tried to do to much (probably), am still adjusting to being renested (empty nest then marriage), or just having that proverbial midlife crisis topped off with pope-killing karma from a past life. All I know is I started stressing in summer, and by the time the end of September rolled around I was a mess. A total mess- a combination of very depressed, self-treating that through a combination of overworking and avoidance of everyone (because I was overworking, I never am finished with the work, and it is always halfass....so I avoid people so I don't disappoint them, be it friends, or family, or students, or coworkers, or school or whatever- and I *know* most of these people could care less about the amount accomplished on my to-do list- but I *care*...and was dysfunctionally caring excessively.... it's a trap. And I avoided everyone- I haven't even seen Grendel in months~). Anyway, I was such a mess that I couldn't finish anything, was breaking my day down into 15 minute increments (seriously. with a timer. the buzzing and bells drove Charles and everyone else nuts), waking up at ungodly hours (2am, 3am) then burning out and sleeping for excessive amounts of time. (12 hours. 15 hours. full days). I don't know how (or why) anyone put up with me- I was excessive. On the surface- fine- for the most part- but inside, not so much. Not so much at all.

Long story short, I refound my old Dr. Lori (oddly enough she moved offices into our old vet's office... which is kinda weird because the exam rooms are the same that they were for the doggs). She realized that I was not doing well and sent me to see Dr. Mike, a therapist friend of hers.....I was slogging through a combination of depression and stress-induced adult ADD. (that is attention deficit disorder, not advanced dungeons and dragons). Now I have medication to help with the focusing, therapy to help with discovering *why* I use work as a drug (besides the fact that I seriously do like to work- that is the denial speaking- I am discovering that I like to play as well), and I'm tackling getting back on track. I still have allot to do- work wise, therapy wise, school wise....but I'll get to the places I need to go. I always keep going (the kill and the cure of it).

Otherwise, this fall the manz has not been well at all- his back is given out, and after a round of MRI's we are off to the back institute this week to see what can be done about it. At this point, it is looking like injections, nerve termination and pain management is the all of it. The days of furniture lifting is over- so, except for the auction (and being the spokes model for light things) no more of the heavy stuff. This is a hard transition for us- both financially and 'what do I do now?' wise for him. We are a good team though, and will figure something out.

I do love my husband, and we are coming up on two years. And I know that he loves me- but it isn't always easy. Sometimes I don't know why/how we put up with each other, sometimes we feel like just abandoning the house (which is happily falling apart), sometimes I get tired. I am sorry for neglecting all of you~ trust me, I never forget you, I love you~ and you all live nightly in my dreams. I will try to do better at connecting, please be patient with me, it takes awhile. That's all I can ask. But I am right here and I'm ok~ and all will be well.

Happy news though, Max *finally* has fur on his butt. It grew back curly, so he is getting his wish of turning into a poodle!

Today

2011-09-11T09:35:00.000-04:00

Just a building, Wallace, NC.

Ten years ago today the world changed. It was 9/11, but I measure by that date because of the shifts in my personal world as well as the world-at-large. Sometimes we need to remember the large historic events because they are marks for the events of our small personal histories. On 9/11 itself I was teaching at Pender, we heard the news from Mr. Hayes in the car shop, thought it was yet another misguided small plane. Then the radio began broadcasting- news from New York, Pennsylvania, Washington. I remember huddling with students in Mr. Keiths office, watching tv- tv's in the hallways on carts, flags sprouting suddenly everywhere, cello music on NPR driving home each day. On the island they had us register and gave us iodine in case of a nuclear emergency at the power plant- even for our pets they did this. A long strange dark dream, people planning on wrapping their homes in duct tape and plastic bags to keep safe. A lone farmer and his tractor protesting something and shutting down all of DC. Memorials every where.

This was the fall that Daddy was sick, and we traveled back to Pennsylvania often. Grendel had just turned 12, and we would ride together forever back and forth, sleeping, singing, talking. For me that Fall was wrapped up in the smell of apples and corn mazes, medicine and waiting for the phone to ring. When home we cooked, walked, prayed, listened. We went to Shanksville and took with us the memorial my students made- but what I remember was a green sloping field scattered with hay bales, covered with flags. A black dress on the ground with pictures and candles. Small bundles of red cloth tied into trees. More flags.

I remember the apple tree in the back yard of the house on Minno drive, Grendel picking apples, sniffing them. He smelt like them for the rest of the year it seems- I have a photo of him, pale and serious in a faded plaid shirt, apple in hand staring at the sky.

Since then, things of changed. Daddy died that winter, and I miss him. Mother moved to Texas, and the family center drifted West with her- and I miss her. Grendel is on his own, discovering the world. My nephews and nieces grew up, living their lives, birthing a new generation.

That year was my last year at Pender high- I moved on to the new school, new things. I went back to college, got my degree, started another. Moved from my beloved island into the cottage. Fell in love, married again. Learned to live in the country, drink coffee black, wait tables, paint animals, work an auction and work on line. Replaced the smell of the sea with the smell of the fields and forest. Sometimes I miss the mountains, the trees burning, the grime of tunnels, mills, houses tall and old and dusty down in Moxham, Cambria City. Sometimes, I don't.

Life, memory, distance- Daddy sits in his box in our studio, on his special shelf. I wonder what he thinks about things- he was always a thinker, a keeper of logs and journals and daily notes. I think he would love digital cameras, GPS, the way we have all turned out. In my dreams- and I dream of him often- he is always at a restaurant with mother, always being himself. Eating, drinking, talking, laughing, being a bit of a curmudgeon- happy enough of an afterlife, I suppose- if the service is good and the portions ample.

Stubborn

2011-08-14T08:01:00.000-04:00

Mule- watercolor in sketchbook on top of other drawing

Summer is, for the most part, over... it's back to school now, officially on Thursday but I've started a few days a week the first of August. I work to hard, but "that's how I roll" ...seriously, I do love to work/have my career. Even though I fantasize about staying home and just doing art, I know that isn't what I'm meant to do- even if we didn't starve to death on that income- I like to teach, to plan, to think up new things and interact. I have horrible doubts sometimes because I am *not* a good technical teacher- my classes (with few exceptions- and I totally credit the kids) do not turn out those amazing drawings/paintings/designs that make everyone go ooooooo and awwwwwww. nope. The usual reaction is 'huh' or 'gee....you have, uh, improved?' but I *do* teach them how to think, be curious, experimental and - hopefully- tolerant of difference/new ideas. (ironically, the one thing that I cannot tolerate is intolerant people. I am to well mannered to voice it- unless they are being outright abusive- so when people rant about politics, race, sexuality, religion whathaveyou from the point of 'my way or the highway' I just space out and ignore them. yeah...you are entitled to voicing your views, but seriously, don't make me try to adopt them. Who's ranting now? ...I did say 'irony')

Ok- off the mark there, but I'm gearing up for my gentle war (which mainly consists of saying 'new adjective', this is the room of tolerance and love -that is more sarcastic than it sounds-, and something else that I can't remember right now, but it rhymes and makes the kids laugh) For grownups, the teachers I supposedly lead, my tagline for this year is "Learn to Love the Change" (we are changing the curriculum across the board and for arty people they can be very reluctant dragons...so I am being all positive, and need to figure out bribes for music teachers. I can bribe art with frames, theater/dance with costume-stuff and auction props, but I haven't a clue music wise. What do they like? do tell).

Totally veered sideways from my original topic here I'm thinking, but that is ok as well. Flexibility. Change. Growth.

Last night was an auction night, and for the first time ever the manz missed the auction because he was sick with a stomach bug. He is still on the couch, sound asleep with the heating pad on the belly and the remote control within easy reach. He did wake up long enough to tell me "you didn't shut the door and the cat got in here and woke me up clawing the couch, grrrrrr" then back to sleep which is the best thing for sick grouchy men. (The cat is now securely locked up in the bedroom, safe away from all tempting couches.)

Anyhoo, I took total advantage last night and watched an entire disk of Warehouse 13 (I think he made it through 1 1/2 episodes), and went way off diet for some end of summer treats: Thai-style ramen (peanut curry- yum), a couple of 'Salty Doggs' (grapefruit juice, sharp ginger ale, vodka...the rim is supposed to be salted but I'm out of sea salt and don't know how to regardless...) and the most marvelous ice cream ever: Ben and Jerry's Carrot cake. I know, it doesn't sound like an ice cream, but they do it oh-so-well. Caramel ice cream- lightly sweet, very cinnamony not the heavy caramel- with this wonderful band of creamcheese and bits of just a little chewy carrot cake. The cake is in just the right size- not big bready chunks, not just tiny crumbs- just nuggets of goodness with what looks to be possibly candied carrots? and (YAY) no nuts! A slight nutty flavor, but no hard bits. I'm not fond of hard bits in my ice cream, unless it is pistachio. Wonderous stuff- almost more savory than sweet sweet... I've been craving this all summer since I heard about it the first of June, and I am so happy I caved in at last. It was well worth it.

Night of decadence over, today I have a kabillion tons of organizational paperwork to do- again, more leadership stuff. Tomorrow I will go to school and finish setting up the room (the plan of setting it up with Grendel on Friday was happily interrupted by a phone call, job interview and resulting Grendel job. Yay!) Then two days at home for 'writing days' where I will work on my classes...then school starts. First day meetings, convocation with workshops (the aforementioned reluctant dragon workshops- just the start. This is a year-long process). ..a weekend, then the year begins again. Students........

My natural cycle. And of course, after all summer, I finally have the inspiration for a new altered book project, so I want to work on that. And I'm reading the first Game of Thrones book which is addictive....but I'm excited. Today is a good day, and I'm gonna make the best out of it that I can!

El Diablito!

2011-08-03T09:05:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was a day of the devil...after the icecream incident I went on a cleaning binge in the bedroom. Every trunk, closet, drawer, suitcase and box was gone through. Items were reduced to 'save' 'toss' 'donate' piles just like in hoarders....and I tossed lots of stuff that I had been saving for no apparent reason. (Sheets for twin beds? Why? we haven't had one in years...since Grendel moved out and we sold his. The sleeper couch is a double, our bed is a queen, and I see no twin beds in our future..and same goes for misc. tablecloths, mostly with stains, that were acquired along with box lots and saved for 'in case'. I don't use table cloths- I use my quilt tops for that, and I do have a plain white one... so again, why?)

Anyway, after all this major cleaning and lint and dust, I have been congested and sneezing. Happy, but noisy and drippy-nosed. When the manz came come from work, he brought me a treat- you guessed it- ice cream. I confessed my sin with the Mocha Mudslide...he was astonished. I don't think he has ever met anyone who could eat so much icecream in one go..... so anyway, I put my treat aside.

Now this ice cream isn't regular stuff, he brought me a La Barisa Diablito, which is a Mexican ice pop- apricot, tamarind and chili. It's lovely stuff, sweet and spicy and salty all at once. Later on, after dinner, he made me a surprise to help with my stuffy nose. He let the icepop melt mostly, then mushed it up like a slushy....to this he added a bit (quite a bit) of vodka, and mixed it up. It was strong and hot and wonderful- not for the faint of heart because the chili intensifies as it melts. My eyes were watering as I drank it, then in a few minutes I got all giddy, but boy did it clear out the sinuses! After much deliberation, we have named this (the unpolitically correct name) of Sneaking Hot Commie. Name came because both the hot and the booze sneaks up on you- at first taste it is sweet/salt, then *pow* the hot kicks in, then *pow* giddy. Commie because of the Vodka, of course. I think this falls into the category of 'kill or cure', but it's my new favorite drink!

Confess! Repent! Hellbent!

2011-08-02T10:14:00.000-04:00

Satan.

Soooooo....as you know, I have been trying to diet. Unsuspectingly for some reason even though I have stayed under 1500 calories per day for most of summer, have not had fast food, ice cream, soda, beer, Mexican bakery, Chinese, or any of the other thousands of food items I lust after. I have eaten bran every morning. and yogurt. I live on salads, the occasional salad sandwich, lots of pickles. I even drink my coffee black (ultimate sacrifice). For a big treat, I eat a 100 cal bag of popcorn...and still......

What happened, my personal train wreck, is that it is the end of summer. I had to work yesterday, have to work tomorrow and Friday at school, and do the roadshow Thursday and Saturday. Facing into the long tunnel of constant work I am pushing to get the house all clean and organized before I have to be at school everyday (where my teaching schedule for Fall is all screwed up- 4 preps, with planning during lunch when I have endless duties. Not a happy camper, but a camper none-the-less). So anyway, manz had to be at work early this morning for the day, and I thought giddily, 'Yay! Cleaning day!' and started to get to work. But then.... out of nowhere came this Mocha Mudslide. Well, out of the freezer. Manz asked for ice cream the last time I went to the store- his favorite is chocolate, plain chocolate, which they were out of. I substituted mocha thinking coffee + chocolate ribbon of goodness = ok substitution. I didn't know- I swear- that it had chewy brownie bits in it. He had like two bites, then said, "well, it's ok. It's got something in it. I haven't tried it with peanut butter yet...that might help." and put it in the freezer where it has lurked for days and days...... So, this morning I thought- in a passing weak moment- let me see how bad it is. Just one quick bite before cleaning. Yeah. Addict.

15 minutes later I had eaten the WHOLE CARTON! I was so cold I had to put a sweater on (it's like 100 outside)....but is my tummy upset? no, of course not. I could eat a horse and have room for dessert. I am a true food addict, and any- any touch of temptation leads me into a full out blow out. There is no such thing as moderation in my world.... only cutting it out 'cold turkey' works.

hum..... I wonder how cold turkey ice cream would taste? I don't know, but I bet sweet potato pie ice cream- with toasted marshmallow bits- would be awesome....see? There I go again! Addict!

My SillyHillyBilly

2011-08-01T08:06:00.000-04:00

Charles is a ham...and not afraid to get into character at the auction- This weeks highlights included him riding a unicycle (seriously- wasn't quick enough to get a picture of that gem), and assuming the hillbilly pose for the auctioning of assorted guns. Cap on backward, goofy...our friend told me to register him for screen gems- he could have a career as an extra, easy! Just might do that~

Lots of pretty things at this auction, but didn't end up with them. I did get one pretty thing (it's for Miss Ball's birthday!) and a collection of "cootie club" Shriner outfits- shirts, sashes, purple fezzes (what is the plural of fez?) and other Shriner stuff. That will make my theater teachers happy campers! Am collecting my beginning of the year bribes for all the county arts folks....every one is so much more cooperative with my schemes when I bribe them with fezzes. Yay! (and picture frames. I never know what to bribe the music people with tho- )

Anyhoo, it's back to school today- not officially yet, but have a few days this week of county work to do, and have to be at Topsail weds. so am easing back into the school year. 3 days each week...then the work weekish/kids come back. Summer goes by so fast, but this one was fairly good- took lots of naps, sold some paintings, painted a bunch, got to go to the mountains- I miss going to Texas, but we need a new car before that happens (had to replace the battery now on Traveler car, and the back windows don't roll down right- plus no ac and it has been hot, hot, hot here). With some luck, we will be able to get a new-to-us car at years end, and keep traveler for a work car, limit Esmeralda to just roadshows and pickups (she is a hungry, hungry van.) I like having a plan and a goal.....and now I have to get started!

Some Pig!

2011-07-22T08:00:00.000-04:00

Some Pig! arcylic, 07/21/11

I need to do some touching up, but I painted this pig yesterday during our roadshow. He makes me happy~ looks so deliciously pig-smile-blissed out. (I suppose 'delicious' is an offensive adjective for describing a pig...but no food intended. Actually, I don't eat much pork anymore, just some of the fantastic sausage manz makes for breakfast occasionally. Even tho we live in the 'hog belt'- as a certain Ms. Ball calls it).

Anyhoo, it is hot, hot, hot here- we set up yesterday at 6am, lasted until about 12:30. By then it was 100, with an index of 105- nothing to you Texas folks I know but you don't have a) the humidity b) a fellow selling chickens set up next to you (the chickens were fine- he keeps them in shade and water). c) knowing that you have a pack-of-stuff to reload during the hottest part of the day if it doesn't sell. Luckily, a fellow came by and bought 2 of 3 tables full of smalls (random glassware)...Hooray!!!! This means that today I am supposed to go out to our shed and uncover some more smalls, BUT it is already almost 90, the shed is metal and....I'd rather clean the house some more and scrape up a few indoor smalls to sell tomorrow. Smalls are my department- manz does the heavy work, the endless hauling and loading of furniture that we store in random places around the county. (Merel's house, Dad's barn, the Horse Branch Community Club... we need our own barn)

Back to the pig. I almost always paint when we are doing a roadshow- This summer I've had painting angst, commissions not turning out quite right (a dogg portrait took me 3 tries before the client was satisfied. That drives me nuts). I actually rejected the wedding painting- painting people is my least favorite thing ever until I learn how to do it right. (I did have one brief sparking moment the enabled me to paint a kazillion mermaids back at the beach...but that mojo is gone.) Now, no doubt influenced by my rural surroundings, I've taken to doing these quick animal pictures. The chickens I posted earlier, this pig, the goat from last year. There is such freedom and joy when I paint what I want to when I want to- entirely different from slogging through a commission. But this is my bread-n-butter money (for me-treats) so no doubt I'll do some more commissions before the year ends....I'd rather people just buy my pig tho, or the chickens.....

Saturday is going to be hot, hot, hot again, but we will set up (and to be sure, we do have our tent, lots of drinks, sunscreen ...but I can't paint in a hat to save my life) and I've promised the son-of-chicken-man (he is 9 and a sweetie- he raises and sells his own chickens, the fancy small polish kind with the fluffy feet and pretty colors) that I would let him paint with me. We are going to have some kinda fun!

Dress Up

2011-07-20T06:53:00.000-04:00

If I was a Viking, I would sing really loud. Take no prisoners. Loot Walmart. Discover a new land. Travel by long boat, wear horns on my head and eat sheep. If I was a Viking, my husband would be a....

Duuuuude! A surfer. He would ride the waves daily. Use words like 'gnarly' and 'epic'. Smell like salt and sand and blistex. Wear Hawaiian shirts, flipflops and drink purple Powerade. If I was a Viking and my husband was a Surfer, my son would be a...

Bear! He would sleep all winter and wake up grouchy. He would,look cuddly, be a little bit scary. He would live on berries and honey and stolen sandwiches. If I was a Viking and my Husband was a Surfer and my son was a Bear, my best friend would be a....

Gypsy! She would dance by moonlight. Tell fortunes. Know secrets. Travel all over and know all the words to all the songs. She could build a campfire and cook wonderful things in tin cans.

We can be who we want to today.

Light, Hestia and the pursuit of Happiness

2011-07-17T08:04:00.000-04:00

Sunrise on the Roadshow.

I find out things by random reading- when I am without direction, or have a stray moment, I open a book- a phrase or word often leads to strange and curious places that are otherwise not thought of. Today, it is Hestia, the Greek goddess of home and hearth. Hestia is the daughter of the Titans Cronus and Rhea- time and 'easement' (Rhea was the mother of the gods, born of sky and earth- she embodies the flow/ether/creative substance that is the essence of life. Her name is another word for pomegranate, a large bird and a moon are named after her....) Anyway, Hestia. Hestia was the first child, given to liking plain things (wood, white wool, fire, clean water in earthen vessels), and became the center for home and domesticity. (Hearth)..... the center of stillness, peace and the literal 'easement of time'.

I like that.

And today is Sunday- I've never been much for organized religion- but on Sundays I've always cleaned. (Cleanness is next to godliness and all that) Mother's cleaning day was Friday (I dutifully more-or-less cleaned chair rungs and bathrooms), but my day has always been Sunday. And truth is, it is not a chore but a measure of pleasure, to put the house in order, make things right again. A meditation, a type of prayer that I have let lapse because of the demands of work over the years....and the simple laziness that comes with marriage, morning movies and Sunday breakfasts- all of which are good and valuable things as well. But I've missed it- the house has slid out of control, I have fallen off center, that nexus of calm has been lost. And I am remembering it- this summer I have been slowly but surely putting things back together. First the living room, then the kitchen and dining room. Now the studio...by degrees. My goal is to have the inside of the house centered and usable by summer's end- then to work on the outside. This makes me feel better, more in control of my environment.... (everywhere else my environment is more responsive to outside demands- principals, professors, students. Here we can create a haven). And this is what I want to do today.

Let there be light.

What makes me happy~

2011-07-15T08:14:00.000-04:00

my new boots and dress- thanks miss ball!

Things that make me happy: my new pink boots, singing in the car, manz-made breakfasts, blue-and-brown, organization, summer, reading a good book, writing (I don't do enough writing for myself!), 'bear'-hugs, thinking, getting up early, the beach, photographing odd things, being best at something, painting what I want to instead of what I have to, coffee, Mexican icecream, the manz, good tv, accomplishing things that are difficult, money (yes, I'm that shallow), the monster, my leather chair, adventures with ms. ball, ceiling fans, when everything is clean, the doggs, a new bathroom, being out in the sunshine, afternoon naps, thunderstorms at night, blender drinks, thermos kits, music and dancing and acting silly, the cat, keeping tabs on the family on facebook, Mother's notes, web surfing, moths, my sketchbook, making art, working hard, payday, learning how to text.

Things that don't make me happy: telephones, bills, money (argh), criticism, feeling fat, photographs of me, unfinished projects, working *all* the time, feeling guilty or suspicious or paranoid (it's all in the way you interpret what people say), rotten potatoes (nothing like getting a nice baked potato at lunch and cutting it open to find it black and smelly. yuck. so much for 'free lunch'), car problems, bad smells, envy.

So what is this about? I am coming to a point of shifting the unhappy to the happy- finding points of transformation. It's possible- texting and facebook and letters can replace telephones (I can't hear worth crap, so adapt!), money can be managed relieving bills and creating savings- I am determined to pay off the last of the bills this fall (not counting student loans and maintenance bills- just outstanding depts on cars, computers and the never-ending-vet-bill-of-doom), eat right/ move and remember that I don't feel fat if I don't eat fat (yep, it works). Learn to love the way I look now instead of longing for how I looked years ago. Not that I was happy with that at the time...but wait till I get to 100! I'll think I was one hot mama at 47! Remember my old motto 'love all, trust a few' (Shakespeare himself said that- it runs true, and it's foolish to not remember it). If life gives you a rotten spud, toss it in the trash and know that something better will come along later. No great loss unless you try to keep it, eat it or fuss about it- all of that is a waste of time and energy. Car problems? fix them or forget them. (fix the engine and windows, forget about the ac for now)...

envy? someone will always have bigger-better-faster-more. Get over it.

Basically, I'm happy, easy going, cheerful. I work hard and work well. I get stressed out about the wrong things (according to the manz), which can mostly be resolved by remembering these simple laws of being:

1. Love all, trust a few.

2. If something bothers you, do something about it yourself. Don't wait on others to do it for you- it won't get done, hon.

3. Work to your best ability as cheerfully as possible.

4. Pay it forward.

Let's have a good day, ok?

Got Gas?

2011-07-05T12:12:00.000-04:00

It's July~ these are some old gas pumps that sold at Angel's Auctions Saturday. We went, collected up some good buys- sofas, nichol and stone dining chairs, lacquered chairs, nice little server-buffet thing, outdoor tables, 18 canvas for me to paint.......a few other odds and ends. Lots of stuff to sell for just over $100.00 (we already sold one sofa and made $75.00 of it back~) Things were cheap because the auction was packed- mainly collectors that were there for the gas pumps and big collectible old gas/service station signs. The auction started at 6 and went till 12:30- we hung onto the bitter end which is when we happily scooped up lots of the good things. yay!

Thing is though that the only reason we could go was that our auction was cancelled for the evening. Jerry, the fellow who worked the computer registration with his wife, died from cancer- turns out, he was also a top notch basketball coach and the athletic director for a local school (never knew that- we all have secret lives outside the auction). We went to the viewing yesterday evening, after going out to Charle's sisters for turkey burgers (which are the cause of horrendous gas)....

Anyhoo, in addition to all that, the wildfires are still burning- some days are smoky, some not so much. I have developed a phantom smell- I will suddenly smell gasoline very strongly- no one else will- but I smell it so strong that sometimes my eyes tear up and once it woke me up...I actually got out of bed and checked all around to make sure that nothing was split, burning, or whatever. Strangest thing. It will go away for a bit, then come back strong as all get out.

The summer is flying by- I have a ginormous wedding painting to get done, the house is only partly organized (I'm not even going to talk about the outside), Grendel and I are going to the games this week up at Melissa's for his birthday (the manz refuses to budge.) He happily acknowledges the need for 'girl time' which also translates into 'free man' time. Visions of recliners and ice cream on demand in his head, no doubt. (He has been champ at helping me on my diet by limiting his consumption of ice cream until I am asleep. This helps because I have no will power at all). When we get back from the mountains on Sunday, I have to work for DPI Monday-Wednesday next week....then a bit of time before going to Texas. We really want to go- will take a quick trip, hopefully arriving at Mothers on the 29th and staying until Monday the 1st- At the moment I am squashed between school schedules (and a stupid court case- no worries, just a witness, but I have to be in court on the 27th.) ...feeling stressy this morning, no need to, just need to get moving and get things done. Grace in action and all that. But I'm smelling gas like crazy, need to bake the manz some cookies but uncertain of my will power, want to clean the studio (but actually want magic faeries to come and clean it for me)......so instead I took a nap, got on the phone with ECU to continue to hammer out my financial aid mess for Fall, had some popcorn and watched Horders updates, which is rather depressing. (I usually get all inspired by Hoarders to clean out and toss out stuff....but this one they went back 2 years later for updates- most people had returned to their hoarding ways....) and I really, really, really want to dye my hair. It hasn't been done in months, but I am to cheap to go to a salon- but I want a salon dye job. I want it dyed really well for once...it usually is a bit blotchy when I do it. Maybe I'll sell another painting or something~ one can hope!

Update- it's still June! Yay!

2011-06-26T06:32:00.000-04:00

School has been out for over a week now and summer is in full swing! We are back to setting up to sell on Thursdays and Saturdays- it's been feast or famine- and have a new selling buddy on site. Tracy (the produce guy from last year) moved down the street to a shady spot. Chicken Man (I have no idea what his real name is) is now in Tracy's spot- he has an assortment of chickens, biddies, guineas and the occasional duck or turkey. They are well cared for- kept shaded, watered- and I've been obsessed with taking photos and painting them. Occasionally he will have the odd bird in with the Rhode Island Reds and basic-white-chickens, like these black Polish roosters~ or big game birds, or tiny bantams that crow louder than anyone else. Chicken man is a character, little and wrinkled and toothless like a chicken, talks all the time either on the phone or to Charles. They get along and it is quite funny when they get to telling stories, even funnier when a bird jumps the box during transfer and they are chasing it around the parking lot like ..... like a couple of chickens.

Teaching online is good, time consuming because you are never 'off'- students call and text for immediate fixes. That's ok though, part of the job, which I like and am hopefully going to be good at. Fingers crossed.

Other news is that Holly Shelter is on fire- these are state game lands, peat pine swamp. They have been burning for a week, 21,000 acres so far. Somedays you can smell the smoke and their is ash on the car, other days nothing. Thing is, my road to the beach is closed for now, so I am staying home this am and grading, cleaning, instead of taking doggs for beach walks. Just as well, gas money doesn't grow on trees and yesterday was a fair dry day selling wise. (I did paint some chickens tho, and sold 2 Tiki Owls- ) Manz went to work with Suavey afterwards, has to go back this morning, off to Ms. May's church to work tomorrow. I worry about him working in this heat, but they are starting early in the morning and hoping to avoid it in that manner. And it's been oven-hot, more like August than June, but I love, love the heat so am ok with it. I'll take heat over cold anyday!

Last night drempt of rivers, hands painted blue, taking a math test. (stress dream that part). I did like the hands painted blue though- I felt like Krishna or some many armed Hindu god. Mysterious, impatient, powerful.

Kitchen Witch

2011-06-16T19:35:00.000-04:00

Kitchen Witch

Another one of my surprises! You see, I've been trying to 'eat right' (aka diet) again...and have been doing really well so far. So today, we had our roadshow, then came home- I went into the fridge for a yogurt for lunch and *tada* Kitchen Witch! The manz had found her in a box of stuff, and had a brain storm~ so when I opened the fridge, there she was, dancing on the meat drawer reminding me to be good! Can't you just hear her saying 'Halt! Thou shalt not pass to the land of cheese!' I hollered then laughed so hard I about died- she now hovers in a place of glory above the fridge.

Gotta love it!

Black Coffee and Jiffy the Skunk

2011-06-14T06:10:00.000-04:00

black coffee and Jiffy the skunk

Today I am going to learn how to drink black coffee, hot. I can drink it cold without a problem (strange, eh?) but hot? Haven't done that since I was in college the first time (I think I drank it then because dorm refrigerators weren't invented yet, and I dislike powdered creamer). But today- today we are out of milk, and cash-on-hand, and besides that, I'm not going to Walmart at this hour. I want to write, and read, and start my day instead. Well... actually there is a spot of milk left, but I'll let the manz have it because his coffee requires milk and lots of sugar, and I earn bonus points on the 'martyrwife' chart. (which I would also earn by digging around for change and taking myself to Walmart, but that is so not going to happen~).

Last few days of school, I have everything packed up, cleaned up, signed off on except the papers we do today- and that's ok, because I can concentrate on starting up the virtual high school job, getting my personal ducks in a row etc. I am feeling the flush of summer- maybe because clayplague has finally left, maybe because the students are gone and - while I do really love them- the silence and ability to concentrate for more than 2 seconds is nice. Maybe it is that I am not taking courses, that I am eating right- or trying to- that I went to the beach, have books to read, a new project to play with (that is just for me! It's not an example, or a gift, or bread-n-butter art or anything but an abandoned backpack that was a) free b) perfect for me- color, size, shape and c) I can do with it whatever I want to. )

I think I'm waking up and I feel great. Beyond great. And that is a good thing.

Now Jiffy, the Skunk, came as one of my auction treasures from the Manz on Saturday. He brought back a van load of scrap metal, a recliner to sell (it looks like my old blue one I had at the beach), a door for the doorway between the studio and living room (there is an ongoing boundary battle with the 'no cats' in the living room. It involves a cat gate that I am forever tripping over, the spray bottle and constant vigilance. Truthfully, I could care less if the cat was in the living room, but it keeps the manz and cat busy and happy to play this game). Anyway- there is also an assortment of plant shelves, some metal roosters to paint and sell, an absolutely stunning concrete lion, assorted art treats like sidewalk chalk and crayons (the estate was that of a teacher. All teachers have chalk on hand, no matter how long they were retired), cuff links with Huckleberry Hound on them, 2 tiny gold purse key chains that open and close, Jiffy the Skunk, and my favorite thing- a pair of small brass cuff links with owls on them. I have unconsciously developed quite an affinity with owls lately- entirely not on purpose- just find them everywhere, have been drawing them constantly.

Anyway, I dissembled the owl links last night and sewed them onto my new backpack, along with an embroidered border and some small pink/purple frosted glass beads that look flowerish to me. Perfect!

I love the manz- I love summer, a new project, and yes...I am learning to love black coffee.

Graduation Day!

2011-06-11T05:28:00.000-04:00

Turrello with flowers~

It's graduation day- and an estate auction day- it's 5 am and Charles is already gone off to the auction, I've had to many cups of coffee, and all the animals are wondering why we are up and about so very early on a Saturday. Usually we are up early on Saturdays- it's a roadshow day- but today it is extra early and we are not loading Esmeralda up with treasures. I fell off the face of the world for the last week plus again- it all started with cleaning the studio at school. I had the *students* move clay and clean out that room...but I breathed in some dust, which kicked up the claylung problem, and then I caught a right nasty bug from yet another kid. So- while I haven't missed any school, since that is forbidden at the end of the year- I've been sick again, sleeping constantly and drowning my sorrows in nyquil. It's finally getting better though, which is good- I have started teaching at NCVPS (the virtual public school) and that is demanding.

It doesn't seem like teaching online would be demanding, but it is- much more so than teaching for ECU was. The virtual high school has much higher expectations for teachers and interaction, a quicker turnover time for grades and I'm teaching a subject (digital photography) that I haven't taught before- so I'm trying to do assignments right along with the kids. At least that is my plan, along with losing weight, fixing up the house and yarden, and a kabillion other things for the summer. Taking a break from college classes though- the financial aid didn't work out for summer and truth be told, I'm glad. I don't know how I would of managed the course work these past few weeks- I didn't manage much of anything. Thankgod for the manz.... taking care of me and keeping me in beautiful flowers and nyquil.

The glads are really lovely this summer- and Turrello is obsessed with them- he loves to smell them, rub his head in them, looks longingly up at the vase... I have never seen a cat who loves flowers the way he does. He loves to smell other things as well- but he will go to the flowers first, every time. I'm thinking in another life he must of been an eccentric gentleman, perhaps an impressionist painter like Monet- he is so fond of flowers, watercolor paint and spice cookies. Yet he is not a girly cat at all- (Max is our girly girl.... btw, another 200 vet visit, he has stopped itching so much but still is all naked-mole-rat looking, which is not a good look for a girly girl).

mmmm....I have to get started on my school work, but I'm enjoying this morning- the writing, the coffee, the sheets tumbling around in the washer.... just taking my time to get to the day. It's a good thing.

Gifts of the yarden

2011-06-01T17:36:00.000-04:00

Shark teeth in a brass dish- from the driveway

First of the Glads!

I am a very lucky woman- my husband not only loves me, but is still in love with me. He puts up with all my angst, shenanigans, work and paint everywhere....he works hard, but finds time to stop, look for treasures, bring them home. Little things- sharks teeth from the driveway, a rock shaped like a face, the first gladiola from the yarden carefully placed in a glass decanter in the studio. Things that he knows that I love, or will find beautiful, or curious. That is one of the reasons I love him dearly- not the gifts, but his constant attention to the world. The ability to look at the ordinary and find something extraordinary~ and know that I will treasure that as well. We are not of the shopping mall, and that perhaps is why I am not-so-great at buying gifts. I make things or find things and he is the same. We know what makes each other happy.

Today is the first of summer (I count by months- for me, June/July/August is summer) and it is hot, humid, breathless. The doggs are passed out on the kitchen floor, the cat in front of the fan, I am home from school but the manz is still working. The house is warm but pleasant, no sound but the ceiling fan and my typing- I like this stillness, it lets me slow back down and think. I am in the mood for a summer book, iced tea, afternoon naps. Walks on the beach. Painting in the sun. Singing in the car on the way to nowhere (I love it when he sings!). Long, slow days....

and the previous title means~

2011-05-30T06:46:00.000-04:00

Forgot to mention it. Drempt (why is that not a word? it should be a word)....drempt of what to do for my final crafts exam last night. A five word exam: Tell Me What You Know. (of course, in reference to what they have learned in class, I will make that clear ahead of time). This is awesome because it is summative, doesn't require me using up my copies, differentiated for all learners and can be graded based on the students knowledge, comprehension of content and technical know-how. I'm thinking points for vocabulary, touching on all topics and how they relate craft to life and developmental stages, technical information/diagrams. Gonna try it out!

5 word exam

2011-05-30T06:42:00.000-04:00

Grace in progress: photography, ink, digital imaging

Last night- after not one but *two* naps during the day, I wasn't sleepy (surprise, surprise). The manz had fallen fast asleep while I was watching a horror movie (case 39), he had tummy troubles all day- attempted to clean the porch but it was 2 billion degrees, he was pale as a sheet and I made him go back inside and sit down. We are supposed to set up to sell today, but I am unmotivated (I should be motivated- selling = money *and* less stuff) but la la la....I'm still feeling lazy. Anyhoo, last night after my movie I started playing around with photoshop, which I haven't done in ages. The result (only at a stage 8 save) is above- a combination of a drawing from my sketchbook (I've been doing all these weird abstract figures lately- not usual at all, but relaxing), the picture of the car issue from Thursday, a cranberry Fenton vase from above, and a photo of a mask at auction.

I really like the silky look and flow of this- and the toned down colors with the blast of pink. Good contrast. I am going to experiment more, and as soon as I get some printer ink, print it out on silk. Then I'm thinking of working embroidery in silk thread and the smallest of glass/pearl beads- it has a waterfall/Geisha look that I want to bring out. It felt really good to play with a different media- I've been working in my sketchbook like a madwoman, but it's all mainly watercolor and ink (and some crayon yesterday-) and collage. Outside the sketchbook I've done a ton of bread-n-butter type painting for Springfest and the huge prom panels (which I love, btw, will put photos up after I take them- hopefully they survived)...but I'm in the mood for some diversity of art.

And now it is 6:39, and I suppose I will once again be responsible and wake up the husband, go sell things. I forgot my paints at school, so will have to settle for something else...and I need new ideas (stories) for projects. Projects that are doable (for some reason I've been dreaming of the abandoned mills at Johnstown- not sure if they even exist anymore, but I want to go photograph them, and Grandview, the Arch, other strange places up North).

Masks

2011-05-29T08:14:00.000-04:00

Fire Mask, watercolor and ink

This is from my sketchbook, a few days ago, with minimal photoshop manipulation to make it darker/brighter. I am really liking it- the colors, the movement and pattern. It would make an interesting quilt/embroidery thing- I don't really work with traditional fibers anymore though outside of showing the kids how to do stuff. Sometimes I worry that all of my art begins to look alike- which I know is my style- but I keep returning to the same themes, colors, images. And black ink- always black ink- and LC got me hooked on the new crystal bic pens that are super dark. They are lovely and smooth to draw with, the ink is very black, but they run out rather quick and you have to be careful because the ink takes a while to set and dry. Usually that means it ends up all over the side of my hands, on my fingers and face...sometimes the drawing smears but I'm champ at working around that.

So yesterday I took one of my weird naps (I am the *only* person who naps with the ac on, the fan on high and the electric blanket on high. perfect mixture of cool and warm and I can sleep forever- I drempt of blue and white puppies, little pitbulls, so cute. They were white with bluegray brindle spots...I miss Mother Time). And I did rest- napped and drew and watched tv with the man and played the stupid facebook game that I am addicted to (Gardens of Time). Thing about that game it is a hidden picture puzzle- which I've loved ever since Highlights magazine days- and you get to create a garden with plants, decorations and buildings from various points in time. This is fun because it lets me be kinda creative, reviews art history (they don't always tell you *where* the objects are from) and satisfies my need to acquire things and make them aesthetically pleasing. Other than that, I did virtual high school stuff for an hour or so, went to the grocery for a massive shopping for the month.....did the dishes. That's it. Lazy day.

Today I am a bit unmotivated because I am slightly cranky still, but what to do? It is what it is- so the best course is grace in action. I always stall like this before tackling projects that I know I will enjoy, but that I dread at the same time. And I have to work on the school/county web page, write my exams, write my ap summer stuff, set up the ap class online, register at ecu for fall, check the bank crap, deal with more financial aid forms (they never, ever end. I think everyone who uses financial aid in college should get a bonus degree in form-filling-out), and I want to clean off the porch, clean the house - am tired of it looking like wtw. Tomorrow we are planning to set up and sell, then go out to the farm for lunch. mmmmm.......hopefully there will be pickled beets or potato salad..... Anyway, I 'm not complaining about everything I have to do, but listing makes me feel better about it. Grace in action- take a deep breath, plunge in and just start swimming. Hope for the best and you never know- it just might happen.

Adventure, or I need a spa day. Bad.

2011-05-28T09:36:00.000-04:00

Here I am, in the car, on the way home from Raleigh. I need a spa day bad, or at least a makeover- not that I've ever had each, but they sound nice. Instead, I had my version of an adventure. I had to go to Raleigh to sign papers for teaching at NCVPS, and Melissa and Michelle where going to be there, and Barleyjuice was playing at Tirnanog...so...adventure. And this is how it went:

All week: worked like a madwoman to have all of the prom props painted before I left- lots of late evenings @ school, plus a band concert. Stressed about money, resolved that, stressed about car not working right-

Thursday: supposed to be observed- made sure all bells and whistles were in place, students compliant. Never showed up. Painted the last bit of prom art- a 3' x 4' copy of 'Starry Night' in 20 minutes during study hall with my fingers. *that* is some kind of record. Car working ok- Manz had it fixed by Dad's mechanic Ray (new waterpump)- went to get me a new tire when I got home from school @ 2 and packed. Began drive to Raleigh (apt. is for 4:30), Serpentine belt breaks halfway there- thankgod there was a service station right off the exit. Missed the apt, but after several many hours, car was fixed. In the meantime I sat in the lobby and did school work until the computer battery died....resumed trip to Raleigh.

Thursday night: @ hotel there is a Manga convention, which means hosts of teenagers dressed up in costumes based mainly on Japanese comics. With a herd of random Darth Vaders tossed in. And a few Furries. And assorted grown men trying very, very hard to pretend that they are *not* looking at teenage girls dressed in sailor-moon miniskirts with pink wigs and platform boots. We went to Tirannog, where the show was awesome, Aviator brewery was having a beer tasting (with free glasses if you bought a pint of the 'good stuff')... ruben sandwich and a bit of overindulgence. Was awesome getting to sit and talk and hang out- I've missed 'Miss Ball' so much!

Friday: woke up feeling like death (to old for late nights, even though I love our new free glasses- yes, plural). Went to sign papers, made it home. Went to sleep while understanding manz teased me.....

Point is, I am still at that awkward age. I am 47, mentally about 20. In my mind I am young enough to crave adventures, want to look good, know what all the current things are, and slack off.....and I'm sure this is influenced with hanging out with teenagers 80% of the time. I'm also old enough to know I am smart, and I feel guilty when I slack off, and know the difference between fantasy (20) and reality (47). However.... sometimes the mind and body don't seem to synchronize all that well and... bleah.

Lately I've been feeling particularly haggish. My hair needs dyed, my eyebrows plucked, I've gained the weight back (stress eating...and when I asked the new doctor about my struggle to gain weight, she just shrugged and said: "it's hard, isn't it?" which was not helpful at all. or encouraging. or adviceful- seriously, for my copay I should at least get either encouragement or a scolding.... or at least a 'participant' sticker). As usual, at the end of the year everything I own has paint on it somewhere, all of my shoes have holes in them and I'm feeling very, very haggish. In a perfect world I would go get my hair professionally dyed (only have once ever in my life...in Texas, years ago), get my eyebrows waxed (and the legs! I hate shaving and never learned how to do it properly), suddenly be bestowed with 3 pairs of shoes (new rainbows, any kind of TOMS, and black lowtop chucks), jeans that fit, long comfy summer dresses, long skirts and amazing new shirts that didn't have: buttons,collars, glitter, stupid designs and showed off the boobs while hiding the tummy. And my art fat would disappear. And the doggs would get better and grow their fur back (Max is really in rough shape- vet again on Thursday. He eats and seems to feel ok, just fierce itching and fur loss- looks like one of the beasts people claim are el chupacabras)..... the manz needs new jeans and work boots....

the house is haggish to. needs cleaned, stuff tossed, the yarden mowed (I blame the dogg condition on some plant. like poison ivy or something).... sigh. and I have work to do for the virtual school, and Trask. What I want to do is go to the beach (take doggs swimming- think saltwater would be magic on them) read a good book that I haven't read before, find a way to get positive and motivated about dieting...just kinda change everything. and I know I'm whining- but sometimes that is what a blog is for since I don't keep a paper journal anymore.

And don't get me wrong- my life *is* very good, very busy, very happy- I'm lucky, in love with my husband (who loves me right back), love my family, friends, job, kids @ school.... I just want to look/feel better doing it.

Virtual makeover in the soccer-mom mode. Now I look like all the other teachers. Actually, this was kinda fun-

http://www.taaz.com/

Advice~

2011-05-23T15:24:00.000-04:00

Mother sent me a version of this as a magazine clip- best advice ever. I'm trying : ) but just to add to the continued chain of events, I've been out of prozac for several days- to busy to phone dr.- when Charles called this am, they said "Your doctor is no longer with us. (Death? Rapture? ZA? or just Quit?) so you have to come in tomorrow am for a complete work up before we refill your meds. And that is like a kabillion dollars because a) I'm fat, so my insurance is higher, b) it's a different doctor so it will count as a 'new patient' (yes I phoned the insurance), c) it is still more reasonable than the expected bail will be if I snap. Though want to bet I'd still have to finish the prom props through my cell bars....just stick my hand out and they will put a roller in it and I'd be good to go.

Real Men Drink Juice Packs

2011-05-22T14:15:00.000-04:00

The manz @ Springfest

Yesterday was Springfest, and it was lovely- all sun, no rain, no zombies. We began setting up at 7am- thankyou to the students that showed up that early in order to help- worked all day, broke down at 3, auction at 4 home by 11. Morninglory did quite well, we sold a bed, a painting, and lots of small stuff- and the manz discovered a new passion for juice packs (left over from all county chorus, and warm, but free- and free makes everything better!). Letty painted faces and made about $50 bucks towards her AP test. The Trask kids sold a little bit of stuff- about 20 bucks worth- but every bit counts and more importantly they can see how incredibly hard artists have to work in order to prepare for a show that may or may not make any money....I remember living that way, way-back-when, and it sucks. Almost made me hate art making...now somehow we still don't have any money, but I do have the nice steady paycheck that covers the basics, and the manz covers the rest. Unfortunately, pay does not keep up with economy, and our pay has stayed the same or been reduced, while gas, milk and coffee are at $4.00 each. I remember back when I first started teaching I could make 20 bucks in food last a week- counting pets, household and grendel-school-lunches, but now that just buys the basics for the week: 1 gallon milk, 3 gallons gas (which is a weeks worth of driving). And that is for my car (not the milk- that is for coffee and the manz cookies) Esmeralda gobbles gas- 20 took her to school, springfest, home. That's it- she is big and lovely and sturdy but *not* economical.

Money. It's boring to talk about, stressful to think about and the bane of my existence. We do not live beyond our means at all, yet we are constantly broke, which is discouraging- mainly because there are few people that work as hard as we do. As I said, we make enough to cover the basics, but like so many there is always a choice: fix the car or go to the dentist (car. car = work = money. no one pays us for not having crap-all teeth). buy groceries or go to the beach (groceries. I love the beach and am wishing for it, but gas to beach = weeks worth of expenses). blah, blah, blah- it's boring. And stressful. Because I was working to much I filled out my ECU financial aid papers for the wrong year (next summer, not this summer) and did not have enough financial aid to cover my classes- plus with the teaching position there being struck (at least for summer, hopefully I will have it in the fall) I could not afford to pay tuition for summer out-of-pocket.... and then I got good news/bad news: good news is that the virtual high school hired me to teach photography this summer, bad news is that our pay there was cut by 1/3. Beggars can't be choosers- so I'll take it- but the kicker is that we don't get payed until after the courses are over in August, and then by student completion count. What that translates to is that I work all summer but only get paid when it is over, and only if Buffy doesn't space out and not finish the class....

Bright side. Looking on the bright side for all of this though, is that I will have more breathing room than taking on all these classes at once, and that is already making me feel less stressed. I've neglected the house, my self, poor max (who has horrible allergies to something and looks like a naked mole rat) and everything else- so maybe this way I'll have time to recenter and focus on these things which are important. Probably will not do much traveling after all this summer- no money and at the moment, no energy- but will try to find a way to get to Mother's- that is of top importance. It would be nice to have other adventures, see Melissa's new house, go to the games, but for now- I'm going to keep expectations low and life simple. Let's get through this week (prom) and see how we do~ if nothing else, we still have some left over juice packs to sustain us.

Springfest or Zombie Apocalypse?

2011-05-19T06:17:00.000-04:00

Santa Murete, from my sketchbook

Saturday is going to be either Springfest or the rapture/zombie apocalypse (depending on who you talk to). I'm not so very worried~ I have a to-do list longer than my arm for the next few days (everything from directing the band, to latin dance practice, to painting various things in hopes of selling them, to senior project night...and, yeah, classes have started at ECU as well so I'm keeping up with the discussion boards. And due to various maladventures at the same time, we are totally broke. Like 'no gas money' broke~ but the manz is working today and tomorrow, and will have money for change for springfest, where hopefully everyone will have a sudden wild craving for overpriced tiki owls) ...anyhoo, all part of the job and I know I will magically get everything done, it will all be sparkly and lovely, and then the end of the world will happen and I will be sitting, alone and unraptured, at my booth at springfest with tiki owls for all eternity. That's ok. What my plan is, barring the zombie apocalypse scene, is to happily help myself to an unlimited supply of funnel cakes and strawberry lemonade, then go live in one of the nice old houses (after finding a car-with-gas to see if Max and Bear are still around...but all dogs go to heaven, so it will just be me and the cat. I'm assuming Charles will go, because I think the best of everyone, but it would suit me fine if he stuck around as well). And I'd go to wal-mart to do the great public service of eating all of the icecream before it melts.

If there is a zombie apocalypse, I'll head to the city where the boy lives- way to many family graveyards in the country- and then onto someplace graveyard-free, like bird island. I could so do that... wait out eternity on bird island. I'm not to worried about zombies though- I read the handbook long ago, and hey, I've taught a high school 7am class....they are slow moving and easy to fool.

Seriously, I'm not worried.... either way- ZA or rapture, my student loans would be null and void, which would be awesome. And if nothing happens, well, I'll still have the tiki owls!

Claude Monet Was a Hipster

2011-05-16T06:41:00.001-04:00

There is a girl in one of my classes that is a hipster. For those not in the know, hipsters wear skinny jeans, TOM's shoes (they are politically and environmentally correct, and even have designs by Dan Eldon. She has no idea of who Dan Eldon is, but still wears the shoes), cardigan sweatery-things. They have ethnic jewelry, hobo bags, know obscure bands- tend to be smart, have good manners in a beatnik kind of way (like they are being nice to you, not because manners are nice, but because it is nice to be nice to people less smart and sophisticated as they are). This girl is friendly and popular, was a homecoming queen nominee with enough gusto to ride a tricycle in the parade instead of a car, sneaks out of school constantly on Chinese food runs, makes excellent collages and is smart~ if I were to turn back time, she is who I would want to be like. Except I know who Dan Eldon is.

However, hipster I am not, even tho I have the hips and an abundance of vintage sweaters. In skinny jeans...well, lets not go there. Skinny and Me are oxymorons. For example, take Claude Monet above. A French painter who is highly thought of, by others and himself, Claude is right on the hipster fashion front line. He has the skinny pants, the TOMs type shapelessly stylish shoes, the odd hat, the creamy sweater with a vintage jacket. (which may not of been actually 'vintage' but just 'old'. Did people 100 + years ago use the word 'vintage' for anything but wine?). And the cane- so there is a bit of the urban pimpin style mixed in, which serves to make him edgy in an ironic way.

So...anyhoo, prom this year is yet another resurrection of the 'Paris' theme. Once again the prom committee is struggling to build an Eiffel tower out of a cardboard kit- over 100 pieces held together with hot glue to make a tower 17 feet tall. Which will probably be thrown away (again) because who can store a 17 foot tall Eiffel tower? I'm not doing that....I'm making the backdrops- a painting of a cafe', the Parisian skyline at night and something Monet-ish for a photo backdrop. (Just had a thought that I might have to use pastels because of lighting and glare on paint...ew....). So of course, instead of actually planning these, I found a photo of Monet and instantly recognized him as the hipster archetype, and collected him up in my sketchbook. And now I am sharing him with you- so when people ask 'why do people wear skinny jeans' you can blame it on self-centric French impressionists, and at least *sound* like a hipster.

Mid-May Nesting

2011-05-15T09:13:00.000-04:00

Nesting

Out side the studio window- right beside my chair- a pair of cardinals built their nest. The manz noticed them first, and together we have watched them come and go caring for the eggs, then the hatchlings, now the young birds. The babies have grown to the point where their eyes are open and they have feather-fuzz, happily demand constant feeding, scramble about to the point that I worry about them tumbling out of the nest. But they seem safe and well, and we watch them from the window and prevent Turriello from being a window-stalker. They don't seem to care about beardoggy at all as she frequently visits the bush they are nesting in (it is a favorite pooping-place)... maybe the bear-poo scares off all evil.

I am wanting to nest, but it is balanced with wanting to rest. I think of all the cleaning that needs done, and how I want this and that fixed in a certain way- like hauling all the crap on the porch to the dump, taking up the carpet in boys old room, painting and redoing and playing in the yarden-jungle. How I need to go through all the files on the computer and organize, delete, update. Clean out the studio at school, scrub sinks, paint tables. Throw away old clothes and broken shoes, shave 40 lbs off my body, scrub my mind clean of unnecessary worries. (the manz says I worry to much about all the wrong things~ ). I envy Melissa her new house, fresh start, cleaning and painting and arranging with a fresh slate. Sometimes- sometimes, awful though it would be, I wish for a tornado to blow all of this away (except the manz and critters) so I could just start over.... but then I would miss some things. We were talking about what we would save if a known disaster was headed our way (like the floods in Mississippi). Besides us and the critters, my choice would be: the painting of Uncle Jack, the drawing by Granny, all of my sketchbooks, Lassie-dog, the copperplates, some of the family photos (if I could find them. Because I collect old photos/documents, I have them stored in trunks, and am not sure what is where). Dad. The external hardrive for the computer (full of photos, papers I've written, all of our informations). Evee (the little computer). Everything else can go- be washed away. Save the living, the art, the memories.

All will be well, always

May Day!I

2011-05-01T08:44:00.002-04:00

I have no idea what this is- please help? Spiny stems, purple flowers, grows randomly in yard, isn't like the other wisteria.

Happy May Day! It's been months and months- mid February to March, March to April, April to the first of May. I'm not sure what happened, other than I fell off the world and have now scrambled back on. Seriously, it was a case of extreme over doing it- workwise- even for me, followed by the flu-from-hell that finished out the last two weeks in April.... flu so bad, so prolonged that I missed almost a week of school (should of missed the whole week- the day and half I was there was useless- the kids did what they wanted and I tried to stay awake)...flu so bad that *I* missed 2 deadlines on papers, taking late grades for the first time in my life. ever. So bad that last night was the first night the manz was able to share the bed with me for well over a week- he has been sleeping in his chair, on the couch so I could have all 7 pillows to keep from coughing. So bad that all I've eaten for days is hot-n-sour soup, vanilla icecream, toast and icy drinks. (and still gained weight. ugh.)..... whine, whine, whine. But today I am up, not hacking so much, eating strawberries with my coffee and feeling a little bit alive. And I'm not the only one who suffered through this- Manz has been sick as well, though not in the chest (thank god) just persistent sinus headache and fever- he has been living in the chair. Boy was also sick before- we moved him into his apartment and he is (hopefully) well.... we have heard from him a few times, so I know he hasn't expired...

Updates on Everyone:

Charles, the manz- is fine, other than the flu. Has cheerfully put up with me and all of my overworking angst, dutifully attended assorted Spring school events (band concerts, art shows), kept the family in toast and food (wonderful man cooks even when he feels bad) and has been busy, busy between building Mz Mayes Church, working on David Jordan's house, and auction antics. When he caught the flu last week, he finally stopped and took a few days off- I'm insisting he stays home until better....

Boy- came home at the end of March, found an apartment, and we moved him all the way out this past Monday. The apartment is a tiny studio with a private bathroom and shared kitchen, but it is in Wilmington and in walking distance of everything needed- so can continue avoiding the car for a bit. He is job hunting and going to school online, searching for a futon and adjusting to life outside the nest quite nicely.

Ursula- is fat-n-happy, loving that it is 'outside' time again and that the guineas are back.

Maxx- lives under my desk, *still* has an itchy dog butt despite rounds of antibiotics, steroids, expensive shampoo and benedryl. he needs a buttectomy. (nope, it's not fleas. Some sort of other allergy?)

Turrello- continues to rule the house with an iron paw. He is a mighty hunter who has eliminated all the mice (yay!) a few lizards (boo!) but mostly dog-hair-dust-bunnies.

Me- has finished this semester at ECU (all A's, but it about killed me), finished the assistantship there (sadly, there is not even money for my bosses job in the budget... so maybe no tasty assistantship $ next semester...), am almost finished with student teaching for NCVPS (the virtual highschool works its teachers *lots* harder than ECU) , finished the virtual reality courses through LEARNC....and am in kissing distance of finishing the year out at Trask. Work this summer? A few days for DPI, and hopefully the financial aid will come through so I can go to summer school and get the administration certification.

Making art? often and compulsively. I am- just a few weeks, but still- in to the second sketchbook of the year. I get really crazy if I can't draw/paint/fuss about daily.... it's my tonic. Along with taking my 'bad' class out for walks daily, good for them, good for me.

The house is a wreck, inside and the yarden has grown into a huge jungle due to nice weather + sick people + rain. It's really wild, abandoned looking, everything has been blooming constantly- first the dogwoods and Jessamine, then azaleas and wisteria. Now it's the frothy white pivet, mock oranges and the roses that have gone wild- (and the strange purple plant in the picture, no clue what it is except it is pretty, fast growing, and full of thin spiky thorns). Inside the house is a shambles as well, disorganized from the move out, stacks of papers and books left over from school, coughdrops sprouting like mushrooms. Everything needs a good scrubbing, cleaning, airing out..... but not quite there today. And I left the sweeper at the boy's apartment.

Morninglory- we haven't had roadshows except for a few- maybe two, combination of rain, my working and then the bug. That should be coming back around again as well..... but now, today...

Today we are just going to rest. Finish that book. Watch a movie. Eat strawberries. Take a break.

Love you all!

Spring in progress!

2011-02-19T16:38:00.000-05:00

Boots- in progress, first rs painting of year.

Spring Fever! It is beautiful outside, and warm enough that we had our first Morninglory Roadshow of the season. It was good timing, because many people mentioned that it was their first time out looking this year- I'm calling it a trial run because we just brought furniture (no smalls) that we had on the porch or in the dogg room. And I woke up late, so we started late, and I had to go back to the house for a barrage of stuff we had forgotten- but it was a beautiful day and we did quite well. Plus Skippy *finally* came to pick up the bus, so that's over with. (The bus was an abandoned school bus used for a shed at Merells. The manz has been trying to get it hauled off for scrap forever....today was the day!).

I started a painting of an old pair of manz-boots, it's not even close to done- I have to get back into the painting groove before I can restore my one-a-roadshow habit. There was a strong wind, and it kept toppling my canvas over, but it was wonderful to paint outside again, sit in the sun with the manz and a coffee-coke, and talk to all the stoppers by. Then we went home and I took a looooong nap (while the manz did things like: all the unloading, including my painting stuff, cleaned up around the yard and hauled stuff to the dump, took the truck and trailer back to Dad's, checked on Merrells and a few other chores) so I am guilty of being a sleeping beauty today. I am so glad that winter is over and outside is possible again! (even if I claim 'outside bad', I really do love it)

Happy Valentines Day!

2011-02-14T17:28:00.000-05:00

It feels like spring outside, and we had parties at school today- paper bags with candy and cards, simple but the kids loved it. It makes me happy to make them happy- and I made a Valentine for the manz, and he's busy cooking dinner. Have a wonderful day and spread the love!

Under Glass

2011-02-13T14:22:00.000-05:00

This was at the auction last night- a wooden tray with the butterfly and design pressed under glass. The design is made from butterfly wings- fragile, horrible, beautiful. If I had the money it would be in the studio now...but it was destined to be a treasure for someone else. That's ok-

Today is warmish, springish, with the sun out and bright. I've been baking- pineapple cookies for the manz, red velvet for class tomorrow. This is one of my faults- I think of things that I think would be fun, memories- or fun that I want to 'do over' as an adult. So we are having a Valentine's party tomorrow in crafts class. I'm going over the history of Valentines day, and we already made paper-bag 'mailboxes'. The kids are writing valentines, bringing treats. I have the cookies, pencils with hearts on them, and the little boxes of dry candy hearts with messages on them for the winners of the origami contest. The manz brought home some red tinsel the other day- Christmas leftovers, no doubt- that I am going to use to bedazzle the room. I'm trying for fun... so many of the kids say 'I HATE Valentines day' and I can understand. If they are alone, they feel lonely and out of the loop of happy couples- if they are with someone they get caught up in the cloud of expectations. I'm trying to change that- I'm trying to get them to think of it as not being about themselves, and whether they are loved or not- but about loving others. About creating an aura of Romance, even if you do not have a love- you can still be romantic. Light a candle. Smile at a stranger. Tell someone that they are beautiful and mean it. Be a little unexpected.

I may sound...halmarkish. But it's not about that, it's about using what you have to create a little magic in the world, make things a little brighter. It does us all a world of good.

Perserverance

2011-02-12T05:18:00.000-05:00

My friend Millie is sick. She has had lymphoma for a long time, but it was dormant and now it's back. Hopefully, after all of the chemo it will go into remission and she will be ok. Myron (who I work with at DPI) has it- he had a bone marrow transplant last year and is much better, so I have hopes....

Life is short, you know. Life is short and sometimes it sucks, and sometimes things are hard and unfair. I am angry at whoever stole money from Mother, I am sad that my friend is sick, I am worried about a girl at school who has a seriously psycho exboyfriend (yes, it's been reported, but still- ) I worry about the manz and his back and him hurting so much- but all I can do is try to make things better- I love him dearly and he doesn't complain but I can tell he is miserable.

There is so much that I want to take care of- I'm a mother hen at heart- but I can't. I can't fix everything, or even a few things. And, as the manz so wisely reminds me, things can't be fixed by worrying about them. But I have to do something, and what I do is try to live as loud and as strong and as fast as I can. Not in a party-all-night Lindsey Lohan way, but in a "I'm going to make a difference somehow way". I'm here and it is my job to learn and teach and laugh and cry and make as much art as possible and write down as many words as I can. To hold on to everything I have, to my family and friends, my beloved, my child, myself. It is our business to live the life we are given- if we stall ourselves on regrets and I'm sorrys and what might of beens- well, that is not doing our job. And I always do my job. And I want to live forever.

Unreasonable obsession~

2011-02-08T06:55:00.000-05:00

Right now, for whatever reasons, I am obsessed with brussel sprouts and pickled beets. (yes, I'm 'fixed'- no baby cravings here-) Seriously, brussel sprouts everyday for lunch, yesterday with horseradish. Cold, not hot. Eaten with my special brussel-sprout fork. (The fork is a cocktail fork- tiny and silver, just perfect for one sprout. It makes me feel like a giant eating cabbages with a human fork).

Seriously, I have no idea where this came from. I disliked brussel sprouts as a kid, grew to like them as a grownup, but only recently developed this desire for cold brussel sprouts for lunch. Pickled beets I've always loved- since I can't bum them off Charles's mom or Bebe all the time (queens of homemade beets) I have resorted to the jarred variety. (the canned kind taste a bit funny)

My current top 10 food obsessions are:
1. Brussels sprouts (I may of mentioned this)
2. Pickled beets
3. Mansketti (which he hasn't made in forever! HINT HINT HINT)
4 Cranberries in oatmeal (whole, frozen. they cook with the oatmeal but stay tart and crispy)
5. Constant comment tea
6. Oranges (they are goooood right now!)
7. Coffee with nutmeg and honey
8. Garlic bread (always, my love, always)
9. Grits with hot sausage and hot sauce (so not on the diet- but weekend food!)
10. Cherry Coke Zero or Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi (either one will do)

It must be seasonal, this food thing~

Friday, finally

2011-02-04T06:31:00.000-05:00

Another of my vintage valentines! No, I don't actually have them, just photos taken at auction. Photo-shopping is a bunch cheaper than shopping-shopping, and I still have the stuff without the clutter. Anyway, she's cute and the card reminds me of the big scale in the drugstore next to the Lighthouse. That drug store had the some of the neatest things- the big scale, the colored glass hanging apothecaries in the windows, and- best of all- the wooden phone booths with the folding glass doors. Like little rooms. And some wooden steps that separated the pharmacy from the other stuff- I remember being in there waiting on Granny Wrye's prescriptions and playing on those steps, the scale, the phone booths. I'm fairly sure it was a Rexall, but not certain~ anyway, it is one of those Johnstown places that I'll always remember.

Funny, in remembering places Johnstown places always smell like old wood- most of the stores had wooden floors, and somewhere- Glosser Brothers, I think- had a wooden elevator. Auntie Lou's house always smelled like wood and attics and memories. Our house always smelled clean, or like good cooking- Daddy would always ask us "What do you want to smell when you walk in the door?"- and there it would be.

It's a Johnstown kind of day, even though it is not snowing. It is a winter rain, hard and steady, grey and cold. I want to stay in our house of wooden floors and memories (and hopes for good cooking- yesterday, after a marathon day, I came home and the house smelled wonderful- the man had made chicken and it felt like a Sunday), but in grim determination I am off to work in the rain. And today I have to focus and work- group project part needs done (I *hate* group projects with a passion), proposals need written, the SACS inspection is next week and everyone has to clean (and yesterday I got the dreaded 'by-the-way, can you come up with a centerpiece for the lunch? It has to be school related, big enough to fit the table arrangement and short enough to see over, it would be great if you could somehow symbolize all the departments. There isn't any funds so just use what you have....... ok......let's see..... masking tape um...empty soda cans....newspaper...bad art......good god, it will be a miracle.) And all the county art stuff for the meeting on Monday, and the wiki edits and, oh classes to teach and blah, blah, blah. Which is ok because I love doing this stuff (except for the centerpiece. Wanna bet they ask for parking signs as well? Oh, and yesterday the US Army (!) brought us ceiling tiles to paint for their recruitment office. The army fellow was really pleasant, and happily said that the school recruitment liaison volunteered me to do this. (did they ask? noooooo did I know anything about this? nooooooo Am I going to do it? yessssss, it's the army. Can't say no to the army- seriously, it's the *army*. They roll tanks over cars for fun- I wouldn't stand a chance).

Anyway, I'm not really gritchy, I just have alot to do and have taken the morning off so far just to relax and read the news, drink coffee and listen to the rain. Watch early release superbowl commericals. Send reassuring facebook messages to my department about the humongous budget cuts for next year- (another cheerful message at yesterday's staff meeting: positions will be cut. Those who are not 'active members of the school community' may be asked to leave. By this, it means "You'd better make that blasted centerpiece or else!")....ok, back on track. I've had a nice morning, and I'm enjoying writing (I love this blogging thing!). I'm sitting at the old desk- the same one Daddy would sit at to drink his coffee and write his notes to Mother in the early hours. Then I have to pack up and head out into the storm, buckle down and get it done, son. That kinda feels nice, even if I don't work in a steel mill- it reminds me of old-school values: keep your head up, work hard, don't complain. Do your best everyday as cheerfully as possible- I can live with that.

Love Letters~

2011-02-01T20:14:00.000-05:00

Welcome to February, the love month. It's time for heart shaped cards and roses, Valentine boxes and Washington cherries. It's time for love letters. My father was a great romantic- he had all the gestures down pat- the beautiful flowers, boxes of chocolate covered carmels, dinners out or made lovely at home. Singing around the house, planting a garden, watching the birds. But the loveliest thing of all was the notes he left mother every day under her coffee cup. Just little things- the weather, letting the dog out, the plans for the day- along with words of love and beauty and devotion. Romance.

I am lucky enough to have that to- a manz who sings, who brings me the treats that I love best- and knows exactly what they are. Who doesn't mind when I eat the last bite of cake, or act silly, or wear my hair all up in "Helga Buns". Who calls me every day as soon as the last bell rings at school, who makes breakfast and makes sure the bed is turned on and warm on a winters night.

Everyone has the potential for romance, and everyone shows it in different ways. Be it roses or scissors, it's the time to love and be loved- and to let everyone know how lucky you are.

Last of the Longest Month

2011-01-31T06:41:00.000-05:00

Charles's cannon balls

This has been the longest month, and many people agree with me that it was a hard month. Weather, delay, transition, school drama, breakdowns and repairs, colds, snow-snow-snow, school-on-Saturday, blackboard gremlins, itchy dogg butts, no money, stranded boys, and all of the other challenges that the first month brought. But it is overish now, and the sun is coming out. We are in for a warm week ahead, the bills are paid, the dogg butt is less itchy (thank god), I love the manz, all of our family and friends are safe and well, school is underway and interesting, and life is good. New month, fresh start.

Last week Charles and Dad were cleaning out the old Woodcock home in Atkinson- Charles's great grandparents house. It belongs to relatives...can't remember the fellows name but the lady's name is 'Ratsy' (?). They don't live nearby, and had it rented out. The renters ran out on them, left a bunch of stuff behind (including a full freezer/fridge....and no power. ick) So anyway, the fellows were cleaning out the house and barns, hauling stuff to the dump, scrapping the scrap and bringing what is sellable home. Back in one of the sheds the manz found the cannonballs. No telling how long they have been there- but there is an iron one and two stone ones, and 3 solid metal shots (smaller balls). This area has been the site of both Revolutionary and Civil wars. They could be either, but I'm betting on Civil. We need to do some more research on them, but cool, cool, cool eh? The manz also brought home treats for me: scissors and clippers, marbles, an old-school potato masher, salts, an old old icecream scoop, TWO horseshoes- treasures! I love this type of thing more than any other gift- and I love him for knowing that.

Sometimes~

2011-01-23T08:11:00.000-05:00

By Lily Lane

This is the artwork of one of my former students, now all grown up. She linked her blog to facebook this morning, and I spent the better part of my coffee-time exploring her artwork. It is amazing. She paints, draws, does comics, fibers...beautiful stuff. One of those students who has grown into just an amazing (that word again- but it is so appropriate) woman. One of the lucky few to find talent, beauty, passion and true love all waiting for them- and I am so incredibly happy for her. And envious. (I wish I could time-travel back for a do-over of my twenties! except I would still want a grendel, and mr. manz)....

Speaking of which, this is what I hope for Grendel to find. Passion in work. Love. Happy talent. A place to be. It's hard watching the kids grow up. I am still in mother bear mode- I've been reading about 'Tiger Mothers' and I am definitely not a tiger mother, I am a mother bear just like my sisters and my mother. We encourage and protect, sometimes get snarly and make the boybears leave the cave...but we support. Love. Forgive. Remain. Worry. Believe. Tiger mothers push and push and drive their young up and away... they fly high without a safety net, just good claws to scramble up walls with. Bear boys find their way to- but it takes some stumbling around and a season of hibernation. They seem to wake up slower, take their time to find their focus, always have the risk of lazy. I'm not a boy, but I was a bearcub...it took me 30 years to get my act together and learn to be responsible, to find my focus. I'm still working on it (today I'm fighting the lazy- but I have a project due and allowed myself to be lazy yesterday, so I better get a move on).

Breathe, trust. The kids are alright.

Buddha in a Box

2011-01-19T06:53:00.000-05:00

“All that we are is the result of what we have thought. The mind is everything. What we think we become.”

This alchemy of the soul is a two edged sword, and one that I am struggling with. What we think we become. On the positive side, I have thought myself into being smart, somewhat responsible, creative, generous, tolerant. On the negative side, I have thought myself into being unattractive, unfit, somewhat irresponsible, and stressed. If I negate one- let's say I cancel out the negative thoughts because someone would say "there, there, you know that is not true..." then does that not also cancel out the positive ones? Do they need to be balanced or not? If I think my way out of the negative ones- change my perception of truth by changing my mental image, does another negative emerge in order to achieve balance? (otherwise, could I just think myself into being perfect? But no one is perfect, so some sort of balance must be obtained).

And then each of these are binary within themselves. For example, the unattractive thing. I know I'm not totally a troll, but I know I'm not a desperate housewife- problem is, I think I should be one, and I want to be one, but putting all the time and effort into that (the desired positive result) seems like vanity. A waste of time (my time is at a premium, always) and money (I have to talk myself into a box of hair dye once every 2 months. No way am I going to drop a fortune on a salon treatment- I don't view our lifestyle as privileged enough for such things). Yet, is this laziness? Is it just that I am to much of a slacker to discipline myself to exercise and eat right? Or is it the truth of my valuing myself- that I am 'waiting' to be beautiful (after reaching a goal, like 'after I drop x pounds, after I can dye my hair, after what?') instead of maximizing it right now? Sometimes we put our lives on hold to much, worried about the ship coming in instead of enjoying the dock. Is this just a passing condition, born of winter and another birthday, that will fade? I've had my years of radiance in the past- and my years of 'oh my god getta paper bag NOW!' I think we all do, we just don't see it in each other as much.

A truth I know about me is focus. On an everyday basis, I operate like the butterfly the manz says I am. I go from one thing to the next, a bit of this, a bit of that. When I have to focus my attention into becoming one thing- smart for class, creative for a project, diligent for work- I can be like a laser. Nothing stops me once I get started (starting is the hard part- I'm like a car parked on a steep hill. When the brakes are on, they're on- let them off and I don't know when to stop rolling). I have chosen to turn that energy into knowledge and art instead of beauty, finances, bodybuilding or competitive tiddlywinks. I need to learn to be ok with that, or learn how to move the spotlight so that it sometimes shines in other places.

Chinaberry Tree

2011-01-17T15:47:00.000-05:00

This is a Chinaberry tree, between the shed and the garden over at the farm. I had never seen one before- I just knew Chinaberries from the hard dried up fruits used to make necklaces. I was rather surprised that they were all soft and squashy, but that explains how they would be strung- I would hate having to drill all those tiny holes! I started reading about this tree, it is a relative of mahogany, grown for timber and here as an ornamental that has become invasive. The fruits ferment on the tree, and birds get drunk off of them- they do not hurt the birds but are quite poisonous to humans. They must actually have to be ingested I suppose- here I am thinking of generations of people stringing necklaces and getting their hands in their mouths before washing them. When I googled it though, I only found cases of dogs being poisoned by them. Anyway, this is curious because the chinaberry is thought to bring good health and rapid growth- a cure balanced by a curse. Chinaberries were used to string religious beads- rosaries, prayer bracelets, necklaces- in many different cultures. I'm thinking now of going and collecting some, making a something- but I'll be certain to wash my hands and keep it away from the dogs, no fear.

The 'Tail' of Two Cakes- the manz birthday!

2011-01-16T18:10:00.000-05:00

The clown cake

The Crack Cake

Clown cake with coco damage-

Today is the birthday of the beloved Manz- and thank-you to all who sent cards! (I am the loser who did not manage a card... ) Anyway- we headed out to the farm for birthday dinner. As usual, it was good- country ribs, meatloaf, peas, beans, corn, sweet potato souffle (for me!), biscuits and cake. His mom brought out the top cake- candles ablaze (the manz is old enough that we have switched to numbers instead of individual candles. No fire hazards for us!) and we all sang. The cake was chocolate chocolate, and covered with polka dots and clowns. (You know the song- from the 60's- He's a clown, that Charlie Brown) anyway, it was beautiful but there was a twinge of disappointment from the manz. He had been expecting a crack cake.

Crack cake is southern-style chocolate cake, which is not chocolate but a yellow cake with homemade boiled chocolate icing. Traditionally it has several layers, with the icing between each layer. The icing is put on hot enough to be liquidy, then cools to this marvelous thin, super chocolate, slightly crunchy fudgy goodness. The way his mom makes the cake, she usually ends up with the top part cracked by accident- thus the name crack cake. (It is also super addictive). This time she had an icing mishap - and also misplaced the third layer somewhere- and the icing puddled all around the cake, sticking it to the plate. The finished product was deemed unsuitable for a main birthday cake (even with the decorative scary clown on top) and was put aside. She did bring it out, and we did get to take it home (Hooray! He better hide it from me though-).

After dinner Charles and I went for a walk, out to the bee hives, with the doggs. We came back and were talking in the living room.... all that exercise had apparently made CoCo hungry. Karen discovered him up on the dining room table having a go at the clown cake. As you can see, he gobbled up most of the icing and some of the top layer of the cake- and several stray polka dots. Now chocolate is not good for dogs, and coco is a little thing.... he will have a belly-ache for sure later on!

Happy Birthday Mr. Manz, your wife loves you!

Mother's Birthday- what we did in my dream

2011-01-13T07:01:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a dream about Glosser Brothers department store and Johnstown. Mother and I were on the ground level looking at shoes and trying to find a shirt for Daddy for Father's Day (even though it was winter- there was a sale) Collar size 13 1/2 or maybe 18? the number is blurry (Mother- is that right? If so why in the world do I remember that?)

Anyway, I was home for a visit and Mother was telling me that I should respect Johnstown and the memories of it. I was trying to explain that I didn't disrespect Johnstown, I just preferred places that were not-Johnstown.    I traded my boots (high heeled fabulous boots that I would love to own in real life) for dark brown rainbow sandals. Then I woke up. (We did find a shirt- it was not white, not pale yellow, but somewhere in between).

And this morning I am nostalgic, and it is Mother's 90th birthday, and no one is left in Johnstown- which makes me sad in an abstract way. Johnstown is our home town, even though we are scattered across the everywhere- but it is not Johnstown as it is now, but the ghost of how it was. Street cars and steel mills, blast furnaces lighting the sky, dirty snow downtown and the clean ice of the mountains. Glosser Brothers with its many floors- the basement had bargains and groceries, the first floor perfume, shoes, on up to clothing, housewares, and hardware stashed somewhere towards the top. Old metal escalators with steps like teeth- one person at a time, no rows here. Painted windows for Halloween, decorated to the hilt for Christmas (though not quite as elaborate as Penn Traffic's, and nothing like the big Kaufmans and Macy's in Pittsburgh).   Department stores with restaurants or at least a coffee shop, and the mezzanine where you could look out at the crowds below. Revolving doors. So much more fun than Walmart, but actually walmartish in a way- everything could be had at one place. I miss the old department stores.

I miss Mother, too. I wish I could teleport or time travel or just magic up a way to sit and talk and see everything- as it was- one last time. But that is what dreams are for, and I am gifted with those (I can hear the way the city snow sounds when you step on it- the top dark layer of cinders and salt is crunchy, like a shell. The snow underneath has been partially melted and refrozen, it is hard and makes a mean snow/ice ball).

Today Mother is safe in Texas, and I am imagining her watching the deer, talking to Sue, having lobster and the elaborate strawberry cake-thing.    The rest of us, we go about our lives in our own places, we are the trees that remember the roots.

Happy Birthday Mother! Thank-you for making us the people we are today- all of us. We love you!

Manz Treasure and the Snow Day

2011-01-10T16:45:00.000-05:00

Turrello thinks snow tastes delicious- if you're not out in it.

Bear can't decided to be out or in. She'd make a great sled doggy.

Max chooses IN. Even though he gets to wear his stylish pink coat outside- he still looks miserable.

Me and coffee and work-at-home. No snowdays for online school!

Manz finding treasure in scrapped computers.

Today was a snow day. So is tomorrow- we have a ton of snow with ice on top. I love it, but I know we will have to make up the time at school (boo) and it will toss the exam schedule off (headache) and I will regret losing Spring Break or whenever days.....but still...I love it! We had breakfast and watched cartoons, I worked fairly steadily all day on all my online courses. I've had to switch to the MS program in technology, but that is ok~ we get to the places we need to go. Manz watched assorted movies (spyish and an odd Dracula movie with Leslie Nielsen in it) and took apart salvage computers. We make more money off of scrapping than selling in the winter- aok with me, and good for the environment. I like this all stay-at-home work-at-home stuff.... I could get real used to it!

SALT

2011-01-08T06:36:00.000-05:00

So... we need to rethink that food resolution. (I know, I know, it's boring to talk about this- don't read if your bored : ) it's more of an introspective me working things out, ya know).

So... yesterday this is what happened.
1. Good start. Sensible breakfast (oatmeal rocks! Mcdonald's has it now btw, but I get mine at home)

2. Get to school. Our lady principal- my current role model because she manages to balance being a new principal with a baby, a much younger husband, just got her doctorate, runs marathons, has uber-curly hair that always looks good and is just to perfect- brought us donuts as a reward for judging senior projects last night. Not the typical boxed plain glazed donuts- I can resist those if I don't see/smell them- but *our* donuts. The one donut we indicated was our absolute favorite at the beginning of the year. (Mine is a sugar bomb. You know, the kind with frosting in the middle and icing on top). So this amazing woman- who was at judging until past 8 last night, baby on hip since the faculty meeting at 3:30, because this has been hell-week at school- got up extra early (lives in Brunswick county, so let's add a 45 minute one way trip to school to her awesomeness) went to dunkin donuts in Wilmington to pick up the specialized order, just to give us our special donut. You can't say no to that kind of dedication. I ate the donut.

3. One of my seniors who I mentored (they all passed with flying colors! yay! all those afternoons after school paid off) brought me a couple of cookies they made for a thank-you. They stood there beaming at me until I ate them.... no hurt feelings here.

4. The foods class, that prepared the snackies for last night, made us a surprise thank you lunch- lasagna, green beans, tea, more cookies. Doom.

5. My financial aid for college is all in a mess because of two many/not enough hours (it's a catch 24 situation that is way to complex and annoying to describe here)...so I either have to change my program or pay for my classes myself- anyway, they chose to wait until the first day of class to tell me this. So no money, and I'm freaking out. I try to eat a table. (actually not, but anything in sight that is remotely edible is fair game)

6. I go home, and the manz (who gets a kabillion gold stars for being understanding) tucks me in bed, where I sleep more or less until this morning.

I've been reading about addiction- and the H.A.L.T. factor. Halt is what addicts are supposed to ask themselves before they indulge- what do they really need/feeling? Are they hungry, angry, lonely, tired? Well...for me I get to number one and it's history baby. I'm changing it to S.A.L.T.- meaning Stressed? Angry? aLone? Tired? Explanation follows:

Stressed: I eat when I'm stressed. If I can recognize this, and do something else to destress.

Angry: I get angry. I get angry when I have to tell other people what to do. (Sit down, listen, blah blah blah)
I get angry- very- when I am criticised. I can do that for myself quite well, thank-you. (see? even thinking about it makes me angry)

aLone: instead of lonely- it's simply people-overload. I love my kids at school, but they are needy, loud and always around (I actually had one *knock* on the bathroom door yesterday. I came out and gave her a lecture about stalking and what the words 'wait a minute' mean). I need quiet time. Decompression without noise and questions and me, me, me. I need to give myself 'time outs' at school.... soon as I find a place to hide.

Tired: when I'm tired I cease to function. I get all of the above, plus stupid. The only solution for that is a nap, which thankfully, the manz understands. So when I'm tired, instead of trying to cram in more fuel/food, I need to sleep, even for just a few minutes. Or if that isn't possible, I just need to say 'hey, I'm tired' and stop doing stuff...

send good mojo to solve my financial aid problem. Money sucks.

Resolutions as Re-Solutions

2011-01-07T06:55:00.000-05:00

Of course I made resolutions- I do every year. I don't keep them every year (or I wouldn't be so fat!) but it's like a crap shoot- if I get to keep 25% of them, it pays off. So far, that is holding pretty well- and I have learned that it is the long-term goals that I am good at keeping.

For example, resolutions that I make every year but always mess up: dieting/losing weight/eating healthy, exercise (except for the mental exercise of thinking about 'gee, I should exercise), entering an art show a month, writing a book.

But the resolutions that work- the ones in progress for the past few years include: buying a house (even if it *is* tumble down), paying off dept (slowly but surely- if we turn a big blind eye to student loans.), going back to school (with a vengeance!), doing my best at work (I'm moving along, as fast as a public school teacher can while avoiding the ball-n-chain of becoming a principal. I would make a lousy principal, because I hate telephones.)

So, this year I have taken some time- a whole week!- before making resolutions. Here they are, problems and solutions.

1. The food thing. I am to big- it's not healthy, I don't like the way I look in the stomach area. My issue with food is that I loooooove to eat, like all foods (no discrimination- I can over do Brussels sprouts as well as cookies). I have bad food habits- I eat when tired, stressed, happy, celebrating, working, sick, well.....again, no discrimination. I've been working on it, and I can say: 'Oh, I'm not hungry, I'm stressed, that is why I'm eating" or "I'm having a wonderful time! Mmmmmmm.....snackycakes! Yay, I'm eating because I feel good and want to indulge myself". Recognition is the first step, I suppose. Now to find my 'turn off switch' - that is my resolution!

more to come, but right now I've gotta go to work!

Bearsula the Watch-Dog

2011-01-06T06:27:00.000-05:00

One thing that I get gold stars for is sleeping. I can fall asleep at the drop of a hat, dream vividly- and remember it (last night it was about a egg/spoon type horse race down a ski slope and through two railroad tunnels. The winner made it, but if your timing was wrong the train would beat you and squash you in the last tunnel. Max was my horse.) And I wake up well- usually. If I need to get up at a certain time, I can tell myself 'get up early' or 'sleep in day' and adjust accordingly...but I do have backups. My cell phone alarm is set, but rarely do I need it- am usually well into news-n-coffee by the time it goes off. But I do have my faithful watch dog.

Bear is like clockwork. About 5:30 every morning, she starts waking me up. They sleep in the doggy room, so it has to be at a distance- she begins with one barely-heard noise. If ignored this escalates to 'talking'- it's not whining, it's not barking (at all) but this fluctuating sound like a bloodhound on mute, which she is. It goes up and down the register, and basically sounds a little like: wah, WAh waaaahhhhhhwah wah wah wah WAH wah mixed with 'scooby dooby doo' (*that's* what she says when she hears I am actually getting out of bed! woo woo wooo whoo).

By this time I am quite awake, and she is accompanied by the coffee maker gurgling, Turrello pawing and the general need to get up...I try to hurry around so as to not wake up the manz, but he usually wakes up anyway- a grouchy pre-coffee voice saying "what you being so quiet for?" meaning that it is obvious that the rest of the house is up and ready to go!

Ambition

2011-01-05T06:46:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was the first day of our new 'titan time' for these next weeks (think of it as a homeroom/studyhall that changes every few weeks. point is to get all the teachers and students to know each other, allow students focused remediation in classes, and teach them stuff we can't get to in class. right now before exams it is functioning as a study hall). Anyway, there was an interesting conversation between Daisy and Denisha.... Denisha is one of my kids, brutally honest, speaks her mind, decidedly opinionated. She can be quite a handful but is on the right tack, more or less. Daisy I don't know- exactly- she is the cousin of Grendel's first girlfriend (Ally) and they used to babysit her sometimes. Cute girl, very country. She and Denisha had grown up together in Carolina Beach, then both ended up living with other relatives here for various reasons. They hadn't seen each other in a while, but recognized each other right away and started talking.

           Thing was, Denisha asked Daisy why she hadn't seen her at school before- Daisy said that she 'doesn't get to school much' and slips out most of the time during school- rarely finishes a day. Denisha started with the questions right away (why? what do you do? where do you think this is going to get you? what do you want to do with your life? how do you think that's going to happen? followed by 'you know that makes me mad, don't you?') Denisha sounded *exactly* like her grandmother (who rocks)...but the point is that Daisy has no ambition. None what so ever. Hates school, hates learning (why? "it's boring, hard and retarded"). Hates work. What does she do? get high and watch tv. What does she want to do with the rest of her life? get high and watch tv. How does she think she'll be able to do this without a job? 'oh, someone will eventually marry me'. I can tell by her conversation and her ability to defend this as 'her choice' that she is smart- I remember her vaguely as a smart little girl. I did some checking and found out that when she does work in classes, it shows ability. But she has absolutely no ambition, has had no ambition, and at this rate doesn't look like developing ambition is going to happen.

             I can't imagine having no ambition. This is totally outside my experience- I've been lazy, I've not known what I was going to do with my life, I've muddled about for a long time during my teens and twenties. I went through phases (ok the first 12 years) where I HATED school (remember Mother throwing me on the bus?) but that was more about hating social aspects than hating learning. I've always loved to know stuff. I've always had an ambition- even if it was to grow up to be a horse when I was 5- and ambition puts me into the overdrive state that I live in today. Everyone I know has an ambition- even if it is a little one. Even if it is unrealistic- it is there. "The green fuse that drives the flower" in the Dylan Thomas poem- the natural force that keeps us in motion.   What would it be like day after day to live without it?   I'm not just talking about the 'Daisy-hates-school-part', but her choice not to choose, to live her life through other peoples stories on tv in a fog of smoke. (and she said 'I don't like all tv, it's just what I do.")

         I hope Daisy comes to school today and talks to Denisha more (Denisha will *not* let a subject drop- ever. She would make a brutal lawyer someday). I stand close to them 'doing stuff' so I can eavesdrop - and so they won't fight- they are both fighters and Denisha really did get mad at Daisy for 'not explaining *why* she has no ambition'....but I'm curious.

Rare snow~

2011-01-03T21:18:00.000-05:00

We had a rare snow just after Christmas- it was heavy and stayed for days, which was rather nice. Our flamingo is covered with a white coat-

I love snow when I am inside (and ok, playing with it maybe once a year) but after Christmas I am done with it. I'm ready for summer now, and not having to bundle up just to realize that there are holes in my tights *after* I get to school. Speaking of which, we are back at school today and I am full steam ahead again- wish me luck!

Messy Nest

2011-01-02T14:08:00.000-05:00

Today is the last day of break, so of course I am cleaning my messy nest- something I should of worked on a week ago. But the manz says "maybe you should of started earlier, but you need your rest- and don't try to do it all today. Take a nap if you want to". I'm full of day-before-school energy though so I am forging on.

We switched out kitchen tables again- this one is oval, and I like it better than the square one we had last. Oval just suits the kitchen better. I covered it with a log cabin quilt- one of my better auction finds. This quilt was in box lots- just a dollar- it was covered with another fabric. I ripped the fabric away and revealed this top- soft colors with the blue and pink in the center. Cozy and cheerful- I like quilts instead of table cloths, just because they have weight to them, and age, and it's a good display. (We never eat at the table! yet I insist on having one-).

Today is a good day to clean and straighten and fuss around- it's warmish but rainy, and the manz has been in and out all day with various chores (some for us, then fixing Bobby Lee's sink, then off for a burger). About the burger- we have the rental car while Traveler is being fixed....which is fine except the rental is all full of the new car smell which makes me nauseated in a flash. I know other people love that smell, but not me... I had started cleaning yesterday then ran to Walmart for bleach, I was wiped-out carsick when I got home. Since I have to drive it to work, which is farther away than Walmart, I needed a smell solution. I dislike air freshers as much as new-car smell, and we had left the windows down....but it was still present. So I sent the man off for a burger-n-fries with strict instructions to leave the bag in the car overnight- I'll toss the bag in the morning but hopefully the car will smell normalish. (I know, I know... scent of burger is not for everyone but I'd rather be hungry than queasy!)