Glow

Early in the morning I walk out into the yarden- the grass is wet, the air coolish- I would like to say everything smells good, clean but it doesn't.  Today the air smells faintly of the turkey farm down the road, the pumping station chemicals and just the funky-country-fertilized field smell that happens sometimes.  But the doves are calling (one of my favorite bird sounds ever, along with red-winged blackbirds, owls and crows), the spiders are checking their webs for breakfast, the sun isn't quite up yet- everything is soft and damp and green and gray.  Our glads have been blooming- pink, bright red/orange, purple and the lovely strange green ones that we bought on a whim.  The manz picks glads for me, puts them in a ginger jar by the desk.  Other things are blooming as well- the petunias are growing, the lavender has spikes (I am absurdly proud of the lavender for growing so well), the butterfly bushes are yellow, pink, dark purple.  The wild spiderwort opens and shuts with the sun, the roses take turns, everywhere is clover, wood sorrel, other tiny wild blooms.  The morning glories/ moon flowers that I planted- those that grow so well wild, and for everyone else, have yet to do more than shoot up two leaves which are promptly eaten by whatever eats those things..... they won't grow but other vines are running rampart over the yard, trees, porch and invading the window above the sink.

It's been a strange summer so far- early storms, school schedules switched up at the last moment, and I am not quite functioning as normal.  I am sleepy, and my brain simply refuses to complete tasks- it wanders off and away, I forget things, get caught up in nets of others making.  I try to be disciplined, get my grades in, portfolios together, plans for next year, leadership and organization and all of those ducks into a row- but then I find myself one day after exams reading aloud to the class (by request.  M.R. James 'The Haunted Dollhouse'- doing all the accents that I can).  Another day Sara tells my fortune, and I tell Rachael's.  The kids eat minty m&m's and powdery doughnuts and wait for the bell to ring- I mark time and think of projects but then go home and take a nap.  Watch tv with the manz, not even drawing or sewing.  Spend all day Saturday with Grendel- he takes me out for belated Mother's Day, lunch at Ruby Tuesday's, double movies.  We take George to the reptile check and Grendel decides to give him over to the rescue people- George has an eye infection and needs care that we cannot give him (who turns out to be a her... no car, no vet.)  Sad but for the best, and I am grateful that Grendel has the wisdom to choose what is best.  I go home, eat church-ham (brought over by the folks) , forbidden brownies, go to sleep again.

This is transition time.  I am at once slow and lazy- recollecting my energy- and full of ideas, ambitions, plans.  For example right now I know that after writing this I must work on my virtual school photography class stuff (summer teaching, it begins Monday-week), get the rest of whatever together for my summative tomorrow, go to Wal-mart and purchase the frames for the artwork for the superintendent.  (For some reason I can't stand framing artwork- it does look better, but is expensive and difficult- to me- and I always try to make my own art to where it doesn't need framed).  I want to clean the house- dust and vacuum, sort and wash, scrub down floors and let the sun in.  I want to get out into the yarden and pull weeds, cut and trim, name flowers.  I want to work in the new book that I've started, paint and draw and carefully record information that I already know but want to put down again.  I want to check off this to do list, give the stinky doggs a well-needed bath, get those ducks in a row.....and I get excited about all these things, eager to accomplish them- but then, when I go to actually do them, its like moving through molasses and I just want to sleep. curious.

But today I am feeling ready to do- so I am just going to begin walking and see where this takes me.  Hopefully to the end of the road, ready to regroup and start again, out in the dawn of the next new day.

May the Circle Be Unbroken

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

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

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

Blue Hydrangeas

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

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

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

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

Faith

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

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

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

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

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

The Right Choice

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

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

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

Burn

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

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

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

Rusty Bucket

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

This Summer I am Going To:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8. Rescue the elephant if it is still there.

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

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