Collect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!