What the hell do I know, anyway?

Here is the current status of the nest in the wreath on my front door.  Now, I was certain that I had murdered five little avian souls because I did not know the nest was there and left the door open for several hours a couple of days, prohibiting mom from keeping them warm.  I agonized over this, actually.  So, every time I left the house, I would check to see if anything new had happened.  And today, it did.  In fact, a friend dropped by, and when I was showing her the nest with the fuzzy little wormy things, we were privileged to watch an egg hatch.  I will be checking it later for more activity, and am relieved to have not committed bird genocide. 

It's not easy being me. Sigh...

I inherited a lawn mower from my roommate when she moved out 7 years ago.  It was not a bad lawn mower.  It worked, when I could get it started, which I will admit was a kind of a crap shoot.  Usually, it would cough and balk, I would walk away, and when we were both calmed down, it would start right up.  The bag was a bit of a hassle, always getting caught in the starter cord, and really heavy, to boot.  But we struggled along, me and my lawn mower.  That's it in the center there.  The one with the pull cord dangling by a thread.  That is fixable.  Yay.  Trouble is, it would cost me over $100 to have them come, pick it up, repair it, and bring it back.  Sucker does not fit in my Focus.  Now, on the far left is my first solution to this problem, a big honking Honda I bought from a friend, who just didn't like the gasoline model, preferred electric, and didn't have the big yard any more.  Starts right up, she said.  Uh huh.  I tried, my neighbor tried, I went online and looked in the manual, tried again.  Nothing.  Zipididoodah.  So she gave me back the check, and will pick up said mower soon.  And there, on the far right, is my new baby.  I waltzed into Sears today and bought it.  It came in a manageable carton.  They put it in the back seat of the Focus, and that saved me $75 right off the bat.  And then I got it home.  Now, getting it OUT of the backseat was a bit of a process.  At one point, I couldn't get it out OR in.  Finally, I got behind it and shoved with all my might.  It popped right out.  Good.  Hard part is over, right?  Uh huh.  Did I mention that I am really bad at mechanical things?  Well, I am.  And the instructions acted like I knew what a wingnut or a T-bolt were.  Had a couple of moments where I thought about swearing, and then, suddenly, it all dropped into place, and I got it together.  Amazing.  I took a break, had an artichoke, read the manual.  Then I went out and mowed the front lawn.  Just like that.  So happy that there is no dust spraying up my nose any more.  So happy that the grass catcher is really easy to remove and replace.  So happy it is all red and sparkly.  All this is worth $220.  The real test comes tomorrow, when we begin working on the recently tamed backyard.  Will have to adjust the height of the blade for that.  Should only take a half hour or so to figure that out.  Have lawn mower, will mow for food.

Wonderful how my very very old rose bushes survive my tender neglect year after year, and, come spring, do this.  I put some on the table, too, redder than red in the little pear shaped vase my son gave me.  Followed up with a couple of bouquets of TJ's $3.99 blooms, and the house looks, if not tidy, at least celebratory.  Not sure what we are celebrating.  It will come to me, I'm sure.  Meanwhile, it's puppy naptime, so I am free to wander around without fear of trodding on the little tyke.  We are very close to learning to negotiate the dog door.  Oh, that will be the day!  Then he can follow Pickle out into the backyard, and poor big sister will only have a couple of bastions of peace in the little yellow house: the bed and the couch, which Punk can jump off of but not climb up onto yet.  Tiny milestones for my tiny guy.  Funny how life can whittle itself down to one simple question - where's the puppy?

New(and old) horizons...

Adventures in the little yellow house... Gee, I just love Facebook.  Every morning, after a perusal of my email and reading through Hazelden's Thought for the Day, always inspirational, and the New York Times headlines, I head for my home page to check up on my kids first, then see all the stuff friends have been digging through on the great cyber-highway.  One of my more esoteric friends posted a lecture by Terence McKenna, and where have I been lo these 67 years?  Great mind, thinking outside the big box.  He advocated (he was already dead when I discovered him) the return to the mystical shamanic mind for the solutions to all our ennuis.  And his arguments are indeed loquacious.  However, they all kind of fizzled for me when I realized his thrust was to endorse psychodelic drugs, hallucinogens like magic mushrooms and that old fave of mind, LSD.  NOt that I think this is an especially dastardly thing.  It's just that I believe there are some disciplines such as meditation that can do the same thing, help one to embrace the inner journey and move beyond time and space, which Terence thought was the key.  And yes, the current patriarchal structure is pathetic.  Terence would bring us back to Gaia, and the feminine, which is a path I see as gentler and more life embracing than the current religious climate which propagates violence in its stampede for power.  While I enlightened myself, my Punk dutifully waited for me to arise from my intellectual sojourn under the computer desk, Pickle laid at my feet.  It is all very sweet, actually.  Blessed be.

Sunday. Again.

Okay, not liking this new dashboard at my blogsite.  Confused with all these little icon thingies.  Nothing wrong with the old one, folks!  I suppose I will figure it out, eventually.  In the meantime, don't have a clue.  Big horse is almost done.  I ordered a new pastel book from Amazon.com, and it will be here tomorrow, at which time I expect to be inspired and everything I do will be so artful that galleries will be calling me.  Well, it couldn't hurt anything, that's for sure.  Quiet at the moment in the little yellow house.  Both dogs are having their noon nap, the Pickle under the table, and Punk under the computer desk.  Punk is in his "whatever" mode, where he is happy wherever he is, like in his kitchen pen while I slept in, outside the with Pickle, in the pen again while I took my bath, outside again, and then in the office while I tried to figure out how to post this amazingly interesting information.  At least the power tools have ceased for a while. Guess it must be Miller time for the guys down the street.  Plans for the day include starting a new painting, and a trip to the pet supply store for more piddle pads and rawhide bones for my pack.  And maybe framing a couple more paintings.  And maybe washing the car.  And maybe making some noise of my own, contingent on starting my limping lawnmower.  Okay.  That's enough drivel.  An aspirin, then lunch.  That's plan enough for the cowwoman.

Beginnings...

I bought this really big piece of black sanded paper with the idea of working BIG, pushing my envelope of comfort around the pastels. Now, I have only worked on sanded surface once before, and that was dynamite. It picks up every speck of pigment, and the result is thrilling for this little artist. Perhaps it is picking up too much? Well, this is but a mere idea at the moment. The superstucture. Funny, when I photograph a piece, I can see right away where it is working and where it needs more. The white is a little too much, don't you think? I am thinking of muting it with some pale colors. But I am liking the idea of it all just fine, and that is huge for me. I am horribly critical of my own work. Not in a mean-spirited way, but in the what-were-you-thinking way. So, back to the drawing board. Good project for a really warm spring day. Dogs are romping in the backyard when not draped around the floor like discarded clothing. Good movie on the TV running in the background. Up to elbows in pastels. Yes, it's all good. Whatever isn't done will still be there tomorrow. Yes.

After the mice, this.

I caught and released 9 mice, and that looks like the lot of them. No mouse sign for a couple of days. Yay. Then I noticed that this bird kept trying to fly into the house when I had the front door open. Come to find she has made a nest in the wreath there, and laid five jellybean sized eggs in it. Now, we are keeping the door shut, hoping our porch time for the pooches has not interfered with the gestation of these tiny creatures. A couple of weeks will tell. Honestly, wildness all around me this year. Luckily, the backyard jungle got tamed yesterday, and further ministrations should have it all spiffed up soon, so dog and poopie have a place to loll about. At least I will not lose Punk in the high grass any more. What a character. None of my other dogs really cared for the mess of dog toys I have here. Punk loves them. He gets them to squeak. He pulls them all out of the basket the way my son pulled all the pots and pans out of the cupboard when he was a toddler. I put them all away at the end of the day, and we start over the next morning. Teaching him to sleep in next. Yeah. That'll happen.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Punk is about twice as big as his original shipping weight. That means 3 1/2 lbs. That's still pretty small. He has three speeds: 90 MPH, whatever, and stop. When he goes with me in the tote bag, he settles in, sits in the baby seat of the shopping cart, and hardly anyone notices him. We are about to embark for the 2 PM meeting, where he will sit on my lap, like a little teddy bear. A teddy bear that has to pee every half hour. I have decided that training him is useless until he has a bigger bladder. Yes, we are all in love with our Punkin boy. Pickle plays with him for hours, even lets him win at tug-of-war sometimes. So happy to be the pack of three again. Happiness is, indeed, a warm puppy.

New horizons now conquered...

My presentation days are now over. The Sonoma International Film Festival (15th Annual, where have I been for 15 freaking years?) was privileged with my august presence this weekend. Now, what do you think they do at the Sonoma FF? Right. They drink wine. Lots of it. And since I don't drink, and prepare, even though I was a raw beginner at my schtick, I knew all would be well since the audience was already pretty toasted by the time the film began. My first film, Invine Welsh's Ecstasy, had only one representative, an executive producer. I arrived early with the goal of finding her and schmoozing her and getting a feel for what would make her happy. She, on the other hand, did not arrive till 2 minutes before the film. My little plans and designs. Sigh. The film was all about drugs, with a fair splash of alcohol, too. I was impressed that they took a different tack, talked about the addict's search for meaning and spirituality through drug use, and the big bad drug dealer did not drag the innocent into his web - she pulled him up into hers. Adam Sinclair's performance was wonderful, and I am sure he is destined for something wondrous. And last night's film was On Falling, a little indie flick, which promised four representatives, the director and three actors. Again, there I was, early, and we cooled our heels outside for 20 minutes waiting for the first film to end. Sigh. I could already smell that the crowd had been imbibing. Once we finally got in, I found that there were actually eight filmmakers present, plus the mayor of Sonoma. Help! And that arrived in the person of my mentor, who, bless his heart, conducted the Q&A. And did I mention that this film was also heavily laced with drug/alcohol use. The cheese guy suggested I have a glass of wine before my first appearance. I thought about it, and said my 3rd step prayer, instead. It worked for me. I got off the hook for the second showing of Ecstasy because the rep wasn't attending, and driving 40 minutes to Sonoma for a 5 minute intro was just stupid. I was not perfect my first time out the gate. No matter. The crowd was happily toasted, and we all got a good laugh out of it. Had I not had the Punk to think of, I would be back there using my stinkin' badge to see something that did not have anything to do with drugs. Now settling in for an afternoon nap. The Punk was pretty upset from being left in his prison in the kitchen two nights running, and got me up at the crack of dawn today. Ah, life on life's terms, and the joys of being puppy mommy.

And did I mention...

I called in for a refill of my thyroid meds, the one I have to take every day for the rest of my life, and found that I was out of refills. Like, do they think I am going to overdose on this stuff? Come on, give me a break. And the mouse-in-the-stove chewed through the lid of the plastic container I stored Pickle's food in the night before last, so I put it in a more sturdy container, which also turned up with a hole in its side. This necessitated a trip to Cost Plus for glass containers, and to Trader Joe's, for new dog food. That damn mouse is getting really expensive. Really, I keep starting this day over, and it keeps dumping stuff on me. Happy to report we got home, the Punk and I, without incident, from our travels. I suppose that is about all I can expect, ever. A nap would be nice now. Oh, wait. The Punk is running in circles on the rug beside me. Meanwhile, not happy with this painting yet, but it is coming, I think. Just happy to have a few to myself today, on this, funky Monday.

The short end of the stick...

While I know I am blessed in many ways, as I pulled my (low-top) Converse All Stars over my exceedingly high instep this morning, my focus landed on all my deficiencies, like a piggy little nose that reveals far too much nose hair, and my weinie Ally McBeal hair, that, even freshly washed and short as hell, just lays there, limp and exhausted before spraying the hell out of it to encourage it to look like more than it is. And I started off wrong today, anyway, because there we were, the pack of three, all warm and happy at 7:45 AM, a new record for the Punky baby, and Pickle started barking. Aaaaaarrrrggggh! Then, despite numerous trips outside, the Punk laid a pile just out of my eyesight, on the area rug. You think he knew not to do that? Like he was just underlining my poor start? And, I went off to the lab at 9AM, thinking I would beat the crowd, only to run smack into them. A happy hour and a half later, sitting on my full bladder, I got to pee in the cup. Lucky me. Okay, I am in a foul mood, and program teaches me I can start over here. So, starting over, HP. And the white horse is going into abeyance today, because I think he is mostly done-diddy-done-done. Perhaps a new subject will help me lift my pitiful self out of the abyss of self-pity I seem to have hurled it into.

Just swimming here...

I went to the memorial for my friend who committed suicide today. Unlike many before it, this ceremony refused to ignore that he took his own life, or, as one put it, "opted out". He was horribly depressed for the last year, and ran out of solutions. He went right to the source, as another put it. So, sad and lost, I came home (first time I left the pup alone, too), got into my grubs and began a new painting. Lots of joy in that process, and I needed a lift. This is how it all begins, the pastels. Scratch away at the paper, get the idea there, scratch some more. For some reason, it seems easier to know when something is done in this medium. Of course, there are those works which just don't speak to me. That is why God made two sides to the paper, you know. This one is a wonder from the beginning. I get that horses are something I love to paint, all that power and majesty. So much to be in awe of on our tiny blue ball whirling about the cosmos. This one is for you, Roger.

I am not a victim, I am not a victim, I am not...

The puppy is in playful mode. He runs away from me when I want to pick him up. Now, I know this is just puppy stuff. And yet, yesterday, I took it personally. Strange how easy it is to slip into that they're-doing-it-to- me mode, especially considering that I have not had a good night's sleep since the little bugger landed here 2 1/2 weeks ago. Really like having an infant. Exactly like that. Everywhere I go, he goes, in the tote bag or in the big zipper carrier. Makes going anywhere a real production. Which is why, I remember now, I said no more, never, never doing another puppy. And in the end, I want a dog that I have molded to my particular ways, not one that someone else raised, so, gee, only way to do that is to raise it myself. So, here's to late night flashlight tours of the backyard and pre-dawn wake-up calls. I have solved the running away. I just put him on a long leash whenever I take him out, and reel him in when we are ready to go inside, whether he is ready or not. And in the moments that he slept this week, I started this mommy oriented painting. Exactly what I feel like most of the time - pesky youngun waking me up, again.