Sometimes, I'm the windshield, sometimes, I'm the bug...

Kind of a mixed up day today. Woke up with a headache right out of a complicated dream where I had lost not only my car, but someone else's yellow vintage Chevy, too, carrying a dog that was not mine, and very worried. I guess it is all about loss, when I think about it. Took a gratuitous bath that I really didn't need except to warm my core, because the little yellow house gets very chilly these nights. Frost is definitely on the pumpkins here. Finished the last of my pumpkin cheesecake for breakfast, and thank HP THAT'S over. Got dressed and headed for the Conference our area hosted for all those sweet AA folks from Northern California (the GOOD half of our state). And heard a famous Hollywood type of guy give an amazing share about his life and times, ripping and roaring. Same generation, same length of sobriety as the cowwoman. He bugged out before I could thank him for one of his performances, so I Googled him and sent him an email. Yes, I can do that now. No shame, that's me. And notice that I framed one of the WTF opus. Put a mat and a frame on ANYTHING, and people will think it is art. Well, not everything. I actually saw one pastel on the wall at Art for Life that I would die of shame over if it were mine. But hey, there's something out there for every (tasteless) body, right? Rest of my day should be fine. Aspirin will help. And hey, I know where my car is. How sweet it is.

I'm not weird. I'm just a limited edition!

I read that on my Facebook page this morning. When they are not posting spiritual bon mots, my FB friends find all the lol graphics, videos, and nutso sayings. It is a plethora of humaness, my FB page. Was all excited to be within 99 friends of my son, then he got three more. That is the new status symbol for the Nerd Herd, you know. I have 222 friends currently. Two of them are dead, but I'm keeping 'em anyway! Really, I disgust myself sometimes. Now looking at my fridge and thinking I could probably divest myself of some of this stuff. Obviously, the skinny model picture is not keeping me from delving into the innards of it for things like pumpkin cheesecake (remnant of last night's potluck, and hey, I ate it solo for breakfast - eggs, cheese, sounds healthy to ME) of lemon triple gingersnap ice cream, what a wonderful world it is that makes lemon triple gingersnap ice cream! Ever since Boo left the planet, I have been indulging every appetite that had been happy to deprivate before. One of my refrigerator mottos seems to have gotten lost, but it said "This too shall pass", and yes I am looking forward to the day when I can take my wobbly bits, now on steroids, back to the gym and once again feel like sugar-free Jello is a worthy dessert. Meanwhile, it is verging on 11 AM, I am still in my full jammies and robe, bedhead all over the place, and pondering whether to get dressed or take an extra bath, since that would warm me up and I could turn off the heater. Decisions, decisions.

Newness is a good thing...

When Boo went to the big dog park in the sky, I put away his sweet dog bowls. Somehow, I could not look at them or pass them on to the Pickle. Then I noticed that, being the second child, Pickle had plain old WalMart plastic bowls, and that did not seem right as she is now top dog. So, on a trip to Marshall's in search of the perfect soap dish (after the bathroom got scrubbed to within an inch of its life after toilet erupted like Vesuvius, and I organized everything), I saw these designer dog dishes. They were so cheerful and bright, and only $3.99 each, and they say that Pickle is special, too. Joy for $8.00 plus tax. What can I say, I am easily amused and delighted. Notice that I already filled the food dish, and here, at 12:30 PM, Pickle has already eaten her meal of the day. My kind of gal. Instant gratification, what a concept.

Nuts!

I am tired. It has been a nasty, brutal couple of months. Dog died. Allergic reaction to drug that was supposed to cure infection. Plumbing exploded. Tooth got infected. Tortuous time in the dentist's chair that has my mouth still wounded. Gym took money they were not supposed to take, then said they gave it back, but didn't. Must make still another trip there to try to straighten that out. It occurs to me that folks have gotten more and more dim witted as I have grown older. No one even apologized to me about taking my money away from me. How sad is that? Pretty lame world, HP. Time to pony up, and take care of the poor old gal just trying to matter here. Okay, did my victim thing. Now on to the next mess, which couldn't get lamer than this one. It was a great idea, trust me. I got a lot of benefit by just dabbing at it for a couple of hours. Nuts.

And this is the other one...

Painting #3 for the day, odd little ditty to add to the WTF opus. Just not interested in the final product. Doing is so much more fun.

What to do with the last of the paint...

Just couldn't stop today. This is actually the third painting I diddled up. Really, there is a lot of other things I could do here - laundry, grocery shopping, raking leaves, vacuum up the fuzzbomb's leavings all over the rug I vacuumed yesterday, change the bed, on and on ad infinitum. However, I believe she who dies with a clean house has lived a wasted life. Off to make an enchilada for dinner, then to Intergroup, the political arm of AA, my last night of service for my meeting. I endured a whole year there. Wow.

Never say it can't get any worse, because, of course it can!

Let's see. In the last two months, darling Boo died, I got a rash from the medication that was supposed to make me feel better, a tooth got infected and I had to borrow $10,000 to get my mouth redecorated, my microwave died and my plumbing exploded. Today, I took my head out of my butt and examined my bank statement, and found that the gym screwed up and never cancelled the automatic withdrawal, so that the last two months that were supposed to be free weren't. I set out this morning with steam coming out my ears, praying not to be too stern with them, stopping by for the blood test I was supposed to get three weeks ago. The lab didn't have the order, and I didn't have the number of the clinic on my cell. I have to go back later today. Sigh. And I have not checked, but the gym swears they have it right now. Wouldn't that be peachy? I know the Universe does not have it in for me. I think. Whatever, I did not paint all last week because my mouth hurt so much. Now back to doing something. Doing something is better than languishing in my victim mode. Good stuff has happened, too. And will continue to happen, I am sure. Now would be nice.

Sparkles, what a joy!

I went to Penney's the other day to get a new battery in an old watch, because my current one had a floppy latch, and I was tired of it, you know how it is, day in, day out, same old face. And the battery guy was on a break, and I got tired of standing there waiting for him, so I mosied up to the counter, and I bought this one. I do not wear jewelry very much, just earrings (three, because I have two holes on one ear, there's a story there), my little charm on a gold chain around my neck, the triangle in the circle, the AA symbol (it is my secret handshake in the world- only other recovering folks know what it is), and my watch. Wish I didn't have to wear a watch, but the whole world seems to revolve around the face of the clock, even when one is retired and not expected to show up on time, anywhere. Don't know why I chose this one. It was kind of a reward for paying off a big debt, and, at the time, I thought I had money. That turned out to be a fallacy after a trip to the dentist, which occasioned a trip to the bank to borrow more to pay for a lot of necessary dental work, so I guess I am glad I got this pretty watch when I did. And it was not expensive, not by a longshot, and it was on sale, too, and every time I look at it, I feel rich. Strange, and wonderful. Such a small thing gives me so much joy. Simple pleasures are the best, you know.

Living in the mystery here...

Remember that old saw about it's always darkest before the dawn? Take it from this chronic insomniac, this is too true. And now, in this time of OMG, what could possibly happen next, blessings are flowing my way. Dear wild man artist is on a high roll and slipped me a couple of Benjamin Franklin's to tide me over through the financial doldrums in which I now find myself mired. Another darling friend sent me home with a cooler of soup and yogurt, perfect for a sore mouth and returning appetite. And, yesterday, a friend dropped by with a microwave oven she said Target was throwing away. I said REALLY? Well, she said, they threw it into her car. You know, I love doing things like that for others. My situation does not allow gestures quite that grand, but I try to show up, be present when others are hurting or needing, and I know how good that makes me feel. So I became my sweet friend's good deed, and now I have this adorable little microwave to heat up her barrista coffee when she comes to visit me. Ever so much better than the teensy sauce pan I was using. Life is so very interesting that way. Meanwhile, trip to the dentist shows healing is happening, loan came through from the credit union, so it is all paid for, payments are affordable, and I have teeth! Who could ask for anything more?

I amuse myself on a Tuesday morning, coming down...

Well, my mouth is still sore from hell-on-wheels dental appointment last Friday, and as if that weren't enough, I got a sore throat and runny nose, too. I wandered around the little yellow house this morning, kicking and yelling at some really noisy people out front, don't they know I am SUFFERING here? Pickle just looked at me with that just-get-over-yourself expression she is so good at, so I made a pot of coffee and had lemon cream pie for breakfast because I was too lazy to make pancakes or French toast, then sat down to read my email, and when my DSL connected me, instead of my iGoogle homepage, I got the Don't Quit Poem, which promptly endeavored to inspire me. I took this as a hint from HP that I truly did need to get over myself. A trip to my Facebook page quickly had me laughing loudly (Quote: The problem with quotes on the Internet is that it is difficult to know if they are genuine. Abraham Lincoln). Then I watched a 50s video on Control Your Emotions, more hilarity. I am now a member of the Nerd Herd, how sweet it is. Next I saw a video of a kayaker's encounter with a blue whale. Okay, that was totally radical and wondrous. Hard to kick things, now. Still, I am laid back here, not inspired to do much more than lay around. Maybe take a bath later? Maybe paint something, like the grapes I got yesterday at Trader Joe's? Cuddle a Pickle? Empty the dishwasher? Call a friend? Hell, anything could happen, and often does. God bless the simple, retired life.

Other artists and I...

It is Art Trails, the first weekend, and so far I have visited four artists in their studios. I suspect they have been seriously cleaned-up studios. Very different kinds of artists. Number one is an oil landscape painter, very impasto, dramatic use of values. Love his work. I think it is seriously underpriced. Wonder why it isn't flying off the walls, it is so wondrous. Next artist paints in acrylics due to a toxicity problem, abstracts, very big canvases, lots of primary colors, layers and layers on layers and layers. Interesting, not my style, but worth looking into. Next came this amazon of a woman, actually taller than the cowwoman, and that does not happen all that ofter. She works in acrylics on paper! Some big, some little, mostly of her dogs lounging or frolicking about in their habitat. Wonderful work. I noticed she outlines, something I have stayed away from like anathema. May have to look in to that. Impressive, expressive, joyous work that has me going Hmmmmmm a lot. And today, on my way home from Safeway, where I bought myself a lemon cream pie since I am on a soft diet after having a tooth pulled Friday, and what could be softer than lemon cream, I stopped just down the street to check out a watercolor artist. She was the only one who would not let me take a photo of her studio. Very zealous in guarding her images, which, of course, I would never steal. Just wanted the inspiration. Maybe I will stop by there next weekend and buy one of her greeting cards. Just wanted to get home and into my lemon cream pie. All this sojourning in other folks studios has taught me that my work is okay, and definitely different than these folks, so maybe, just maybe, I have a style! Now, that's exciting. Meanwhile, mouth is hurting, again, so headed for bed early, a good book, Desperate Housewives later tonight, and Tylenol PM for a happy night's sleep before getting up and trying new things. Maybe even getting out the watercolors, I feel so stoked about the work I saw today.

Back to kindergarten...

A friend who buys abandoned storage units gave me a huge box full of "art supplies". Actually, there were some student grade watercolors, lots of paper, a few brushes, and I gave all those to my partners in crime who are working the Artist's Way with me, as they are just beginning that experimental stage, and it couldn't hurt to have a few doodads to begin. But one of the things in the great big box were a couple of sets of oil pastels. Now, I have avoided them like anathema, as they just seemed too rough and too loose, strange but true. Could not tighten those suckers up if I tried. Strangely enough, these are water-soluable, so a wet brush will spread the pigment into all those annoying holidays, if I were to decide to do that. And gee, I like having lots of options - to fix stuff once I go "eeeeeuwww" and walk away in disgust. Here is my first attempt at these suckers, on watercolor paper with lots of tooth, scribble, scribble. It made me happy, actually, and came out with a certain elan of it's own, that would not be there if I were working in soft pastels or acrylics. Messy is not bad, I think. Every day, I get an artist du jour on my homepage. They do all kinds of stuff, much of it really ugly, full of social commentary. I like art to be 1) expressive, 2) full of color, 3) interesting to look at day after day, 4) enlightening. Mostly, I like MY art to say ME in it. This little ditty did that. Will report back later, after more experimenting. So many media, so little time.

Slaphappy me...

And here is the latest I-don't-give-a-crap-what-happens-I'm-just-needing-to-paint ditty from the current WTF opus. Still pissed off at losing my dog. Good that the browser is loading pictures much faster than it was (used to be able to play 5 0r 6 games of Freecell while waiting). Bad that the microwave is deceased. Third one since I moved here 7 years ago. Life on life's terms. Thinking dirty words at the moment. Also have no $$$ after recent vet bill, wedding, and upcoming dental stuff. HP has great things in store, I'm sure. Yes, I think I will stay positive. I haven't been dumped on my head yet. And, if I was, well, I have Medicare.

The real me...

A friend sent me this picture he took last year at our gala 20th anniversary of sobriety party. Best shot anyone has taken of the cowwoman in many moons. I like that it is black and white, and kind of fuzzy, always a good thing in these latter days of life. Oooh, it was TWO years ago. My, how time flies when one is over the hill. I don't know about you, but I hope to coast the rest of the way.

The road of happy destiny...

The 9th step promises say we will be relieved of fear of economic insecurity. Notice, that does not promise that economic insecurity will go away. Oh, nonono. Only that we will not quiver at its imminent approach. Well, here it comes again! And I am working on it, really I am. Perhaps this is HP's way of saying I should market my art? Though, I have always thought I needed to frame it before that happened. Maybe just mat it? Don't know. Mulling here. Meanwhile, I just keep painting, like this Monet homage, a copy of a still life he did, very busy and rather muddled, but fun in the end. Oh, hell. I am just going to keep having fun, and trust that the prosperity will land on me like a butterfly. You have to sit still for that to happen, you know.

And wiped the palette off to make this next...

Didn't want to waste any pigment, a holdover from my Scots mother who never wasted a thing in her very long life, so I did this. Really, I love the acrylic on paper. Don't feel like I need to be perfect or eloquent, just no real investment in using up the materials or in the final product. It is what it is, in the precious moment of its creation. Happy Sunday, Big Blue Ball.

Nothing to do today, ho hum...

Really, there was plenty to do. Laundry beckoned. The leaves are in piles and will not get into the yard waste bin by themselves. I could write my morning pages that I didn't do this morning. Instead, I felt truly sorry for myself (tooth is still aching, after all), went to a noon meeting and thought about someone else for a while, sweet newcomer who is braving the raging river of new recovery, offered her a paddle and a prayer, then came home to stare at my computer monitor and some mindless games to take my mind off my aches and miseries. Then said NUTS and painted a couple of mindless little ditties, not particularly interested in any outcome at all, and gee, kind of fun. Now headed for an early night hoping to catch up on some sleep that has been denied me as I try to overcome this blasted infection, and fear of economic insecurity that has raised its ugly head as I contemplate paying for all this horrid dental work. Ah, life on life's terms. Truly sucks sometimes.

Saturday potpourri...

Chaotic little mess I made using up the remainder of a palette from another, more mannered mess. Kind of appropriate for the current situation in the little yellow house. Just as I was hoping to have an easing in the monthly budget, having paid off a large, ancient debt, I made another one yesterday to have major dental work done, an even bigger one, sigh. One more year of eeking along, sigh. Meanwhile, I saw on a PBS channel that I was surfing by the other night that the universe is expanding at just the right rate. Any slower and it would collapse on itself. Any faster, there could be no life. So it actually looks like the whole freaking universe was designed to support and protect us fragile beings crawling on the surface of this pretty blue ball. No wonder scientists become mystics. There is a great and wondrous order to everything. Previous PBS lurking taught me that everything is made of the same stuff. That would be you, me, the stars, the flowers, the rocks, ad infinitum. And that most of everything is nothing, vast empty spaces in the atoms between the nucleus and all those crazy electrons spinning around it in a frenzy. Gee, I think I'll go back to bed with my toothache and contemplate that for a while.

A little circle of sorrow...

I attended the first evening of a four week seminar on grief from pet loss. Six women were there, with Reverend Leslie of the Center for Spiritual Living. I saw that I am in good company here, that the process is much more spiritual than I had thought. Still have a problem looking at photos of Boo, but I did take my sketchbook drawing I made earlier this year. Our workbook has pages where I can make more sketches, too. We had an altar in the center of our circle, where we put pictures and toys. Other dogs did not make the mess of their toys like my Boo did. Perhaps I will bring his bowls, the blue and white ones with little paw prints on them, next week. And his baby picture. Lordy, he was obscenely cute as a baby. Well, he was cute all his life, little teddy bear dog that he was. A couple of the other women in the group were still grieving actively, sobbing. That is not happening to me, and I think it is because of the long, long, long recovery I have practicing letting go. Whatever, I will profit from writing out our story, the Boo and I, and acknowledging the lessons he taught me, like loving with a totally open heart, walking sloooowwwwly because he was always waddling in front of me, confident he knew where I was going, and gratitude for his warm, furry presence, even as I swept drifts of black hair from every corner of the little yellow house. There will never be another Boo.

Brrrr. Turn up the furnace, fall has fallen.

So, here I am, all trussed up in my sweats, several layers of them, resisting turning up the thermostat, because that will raise the PG&E bill, and it is still early in the fall, right? Don't know what has happened to global warming in our little corner of the globe. Here, it has been unseasonably cold for summer, with only a day or two of heat in between. Don't want to know what that has done to our monocultural crop of grapes. Late harvest, for sure. Low sugar, probably. Bitter wine. Couldn't care less, not doing wine any more. Meanwhile, contemplating alerting my local classical station to the ingenuity of my favorite streamed station, RMF Classic, from Krakow, Poland. They don't play those dry-as-dust contemporaries of Mozart or Beethoven or Bach, guys. If they are languishing in obscurity, there is a REASON, guys. Why not pull out some Dvorak or Katchutorian or Sibelius, the lesser known pieces, or Ralph Vaughn Williams? Today I heard an amazing piece by Williams. Couldn't tell you what it was. The crawl was in Polish. Still, there is a wealth of bouncy, perky music out there that is obscure only because these composers have such a bounty of more performed works. Okay, they don't have to stoop to Sting or Harry Connick, Jr., but an occasional TV theme would be nice. Yesterday, RMF Classic played the theme to Dr. Kildare (Richard Chamberlain, Raymond Massey, in the '60s, remember?). I almost wept with the joy of it. Well, that felt good. I will admit, I like romantic music. No longer ashamed of that, either. Everyone should just get over it.

It's raining...

...and not one of those gray days when God kind of just spits on me, but real rainy rain, the kind that will demand an umbrella just to get across the street to get the mail. And the five day forecast says no sunshine till Thursday. And we all know what that means. It's fall. Just like that. So, time to haul all the summer duds to the back closet and the winter stuff to the bedroom. And dig under the bed for the knockoff Uggs and other more waterproof footwear and bury the sandals there for six months. Hell, I am even thinking of turning on the furnace! Well, maybe not right away. Pickle is snoring on the rug. Smart cookie. She knows that 3 PM is a natural circadian trough, and takes a nap. Or maybe this is just an extension of her after lunch nap, which was an addendum to her after breakfast nap. Really smart cookie, the lone Pickle. And here is another of Martha's arrangements in this cut glass vase that I thought I could not paint, and probably didn't, but it works for me now. Strange flowers, probably passion flowers, which I think are from Mars.

With thanks to Martha...

I have been very abundant lately. Since I am in this frenzy of creativity, friends have been gifting me with lots of magazines. One was Martha Stewart Living. Yeah, I really need that. But, gee, here were all these dandy floral arrangements. I got so excited, I literally jumped up out of bed to lay a palette and paint this one. It got pickier than I have been lately, and at the same time, is wonderfully messy and kind of just THERE. Happiness is a mess of acrylics and a Bristol pad. Which I replenished at Riley Street, this weekend, the last of their Back to School sale, where everything was 40 to 50% off. New brushes, even! Rich. I am so very rich here.

The fish and I.

I went in for my annual eye exam this week. This is new behavior. I ignored my eyes for a long time (no insurance, and no prescription, just over the counter readers, tons of them, everywhere), and we all know how that backfired, when, last year, I was diagnosed with narrow angle glaucoma and had to have surgery to save my eyesight. Scary stuff. Well, this time, better news. However, while I was sitting in the enclosed windowless area where they park you while the drops work (dilating drops are much less painful than the constricting ones they used before my surgeries, I can tell you), I got all involved with this one little fish in the aquarium in the middle of the room. He was a silver guy, actually bigger than the average goldfish, with two long feeler thingies that he whipped around like flags. He kept kissing the surface of the water or pushing against the plants. I got all worried that, not only was he lonely in there all by himself, but hungry, too. Geez, is anybody feeding this poor fish? Got all codependent about the damned fish. Then I gave the fish to HP, let go of my worry and went on to get examined. Got a clean bill from my nebbish of an eye doctor. Corneas relatively clear, pressure good, cornea thickness good, macula clear, optic nerve healthy, tiny adjustment to my progressives. Yay! And, when I got home, in honor of that dear fish who so amused me during the boring half hour with all the other geriatric patients, I did a little painting of fish. It's a strange world here in the little yellow house.

Yes, but is it art?

Our little burg has gotten all artsy fartsy, I noticed, on my way down Santa Rosa Avenue, our local hooker drag and auto row. There is an obelisk! Wow! How very sophisticated. Usually, one only sees obelisks in Egypt, or Washington DC, or in front of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican. Though I am not sure if this is the best artistic expression for this particular location. It appears that this obelisk is fashioned out of old auto parts. I guessed this from the Toyota emblem that was most evident as I passed by. Well, it is ingenius, I guess. Someone thought of something to do with all those bits of metal left over after the crushing machine has done its duty. And, one wonders if anyone in this world, like the Pope and his college of Cardinals, knows the real meaning of an obelisk. I do, because I took comparitive mythology in college, and that was only a couple of years ago, so I still remember what I learned there (shelf life of college classes tends to get staledated pretty fast when you are in your 7th decade of existence on the Big Blue Ball). In the Egyptian pantheon, the sky god was female, the earth god, male. So one can make a fair assumption of the true reason for an obelisk, right? I heard one guy had made the obelisk his Higher Power. Nothing new there.

Another day, another mess...

Never have been into neatness, but it's getting a little out there these days, when I spend long hours being pretty pissed off, and just need an outlet to defray all that energy. Now also need a whole big bunch of paint, and gee, just got an email saying Riley Street, our friendly neighborhood art supply store, is still having their beginning of the semester sale, so, tomorrow, when the new credit union, the one that ate my old credit union, will finally post my pension income, which used to be posted today, one day before the last day of the month, I will head over there to get lots more acrylics, which I thought I would never like or use, and now am madly in love with. Things change. All the time, every day. It's not good or bad. Annoying, maybe.

Screw-it art...

Sometimes, I just get really pissed off. I miss my Boo! I want my dog back! It feels like I have regressed to my two year old self. Not that I could act out then. Oh, nonono. But today, when there is no one in the little yellow house but me and the Pickle, well, who cares if I just stomp around and kick stuff. Those boxed that I threw in a corner were handy targets, but I actually broke them down and put them in the recycling container the other day. So I just did a big nothing with paint and paper, a spiral of grief, with a hot center. That's what it feels like, like I could fall into it and burn myself up. Makes me thirsty to look at it. Off to get a diet root beer. And more paint. Have burned through most of the pigments! I like doing these nothing paintings. No investment in anything, not the expense, not the outcome. Just about process. Perhaps that is always true. You think?

Tuesday stuff...

Waiting for my Artist's Way group to arrive, check in and go forward with this week's tasks. Have been pretty vigilant, done my %#^*% morning pages most days, artist's date every week, and a selection of that week's tasks most of the time, too. Really think I have come along here, as I am producing several pieces a week, some good, some really kind of twitch like this one, not done yet, but gee, I see promise here, as well as some audacity. Just went online to check one of my mentor's websites, and wow, I can leave things just as sketchy as I like, yes! Actually, I am more and more excited by this process, and, perhaps, please HP, I will find my particular bent, the one that identifies ME in every painting or pastel. You think? Or, do I even need that? Ah, questions are good. Actually, better than answers in many ways, because there are so many ways one could go, and an answer is so very structured. Not my style, structure.

Well, THAT"S over...

Sometimes, it's easy. I have been struggling with a recalcitrant mouse for month's now. Cleaned it with alcohol. Got it a new pad. Still, push, pull, drag, ACCCHH! New thing happened. Any screen that scolled leaped about like a whirling dervish. Could not get the cursor to settle on anything in iTunes, or (gulp) online. Oh, no. Looked like something awful (read EXPENSIVE) was wrong. Then it occurred to me, gee, could it be the mouse? Well, that's not difficult, is it. Just mosey over to Best Buy and pick one out of the myriad possibilities. Which I did today, praying all the way home that, smart little cookie that I am, I had hit the nail on the head and I could now read my blessed email. Actually, the only peripheral I ever installed that worked the first time has been the mouse. Super simple little dohickey. But, gee, it was still flickering. Then, I realized I still had the old one plugged in. Duh. Unplugged it, and now, wow, works slick as a whistle. Okay, have used up my daily quota of hackneyed cliches. Now off to do another of these wild little nothings.

The day after the gym after long time no go...

Not my happiest day. Kinda sore around the edges. That's good, right? Gee, I hope so. I realize that I have been way off balance here for the last month. Take away one little 18 lb piece of my life, and the whole puzzle collapsed like a house of cards. Every day I get used to the difference a little more. And feelings, well, they are all over the place. I can feel happy and guilty for feeling happy and worried that I shouldn't be feeling happy all at the same time. Well, I have always been pretty bugnuts. That hasn't changed. And the old question is back. Am I all right here? Please, someone, validate me in my grief process. I actually thought I had that one down. Yes, dear girl, you are all right no matter what is happening or what you are feeling about what is happening, or what you might feel about what is happening, blah, blah, blah. Which is why I did this little messy ditty, called Garden, fast and furiously, without much thought or reason in the process, because I was not thinking at all during the doing, and that is such a blessing, because no think means no feel. Ah, a place to go away. A refuge from the grief. Grace.

Please, no applause, I got to the gym today!

Yes, my muffin tops, my saddle bags, and the new addition, my spare tire, all got worked out today. Hope this is the end of the self-indulgent sloth and awful apathy that came after Boo went to heaven. Grief, it sucks. And it is also wonderfully cathartic, and has reminded me that I am, after all, a spiritual being, one who is not afraid to love deeply. Lots of art came out of this period. It was the only thing that soothed me totally, took me to a sweet place of comfort and joy. Got tired of scraping pastels out from under my fingernails, and took a leaf from a new book. I saw an artist's work on greeting cards on my last artist's date, and realized she was using acrylics on PAPER! Oh, I remember doing that. And, languishing in my studio were a couple of pads of Bristol paper, that didn't work very well with watercolors or pastels, so, voila! Just slapping away merrily here, not worrying very much about anything of any consequence. A whole new series begins. Never a dull moment in the little yellow house.

Sunday, help!

Cannot decide what to do today. I have my artist's date with myself to accomplish before Tuesday morning, so I guess that is on the front burner. I am putting this little pastel away for a while, as I cannot walk past without putting another layer of color on it. I like the puppies, and now pronounce them DONE. Fresh off an art victory, as the little pig got a bid at the silent auction only an hour into the event, which saved me sore feet and much angst waiting to see if someone would love it. And, it was not the minimum bid, either, but $100 over! I could have hung around to see if it turned into a bidding war, and wound up selling for 150% of its value, the BUY IT NOW! price. That is my fantasy, of course, and when that happens, I will formally have arrived. Or not. Perhaps I am already there. It was evident yesterday that one can conceive of any little idea, render it, often sketchily and sometimes not very artfully, hang it on a wall, slap a price on it, and call it ART. I liked a lot of the pieces yesterday, more than I did last year's panoply, and a couple were pretty lame, in my modest opinion. But, hey! Chacun a son gout, folks. Everyone to their own taste. Just happy someone loved Willoughby enough to take him home, where they can look at him everyday on their wall.

Claude really had it goin' on, yesiree.

When in doubt, copy a master. I have been perusing pastel artist online, looking at all the ways folks use this very intriguing medium, and there is this one guy, whose name is forever lost in the sea of artists on that website, but he specializes in copies of the masters. Well, that is one person's vision. And, in many ways, I am free here, because I don't think I have a vision. I don't want to restrict myself to one subject, or even one technique. The only identifying mark on any of my works is my signature, and I don't always even do that. Sometimes I sign paintings on the back, along with the title and the year. So much more modest, you know. I will soon embark for Art for Life, and my wild man artist went to the preview last night, and tells me that Willoughby is prominently displayed, and generated a lot of buzz amongst the artists. My fondest wish is that he become the focus of a bidding war, make lots of artistic waves as well as some cash for Face to Face, the charity we are all artistically supporting, and lots of praise for MOI! Okay, not well yet, but the one thing we all crave, we terribly sensitive persons, is VALIDATION. Like, I am doing well at my chosen craft. Or he could bomb, I could bring him home and adore him in private. It's all good.

The search for serenity...

A long time ago, I took a photo of this waterlily, really a fine image, except that the flower had little specks of dirt on a couple of the petals. Well, my tiny mind said, that is life. Kind of dirty around the edges, even when it looks so very peaceful and perfect. Still, never really liked the photo because of its itty bitty imperfections. Now have done this pastel of the image, and really love that I didn't have to include the flyspecks. I could make it anything I wanted it to be! It turned out fine, I think, and made me really happy and contented as I worked. Probably not serene, though. Not a place that is familiar in this sad time. Just glad that HP put art into my life, so I can spend my time happily slapping away on my kitchen counter, doing something so very interesting and surprising. Never know what is going to happen with it. Well, never know what is going to happen, EVER. Loving the mystery, though.

This little piggy went to market...

I drove Willoughby up the freeway today, to deliver him as my donation to the annual Art for Life silent auction. He rode shotgun, so I could admire him one last time in person. I hope. Surely some person will fall in love with him and snap him up, right? Hey, on our way in, I carried him picture out, mostly so people would not laugh at my duct tape method of framing (I use a staple gun, too, it works and is easy to change if someone wanted a different frame, as there is no accounting for taste, besides I am a woman, and it is my prerogative to be inventive), and one artist on his way out saw him and exclaimed many words of praise for my artful rendering of this sweet animal. Got some ooohs and ahhhs inside, too. Would be thrilled if they featured him up front and personal, as they did the cows last year. And if no one snaps him up, he is mine to travel back down the freeway afterward. Not many propositions in life that are more appealing than that. Not to mention, I get into the event, art patrons get to look at me (and the artists really are kind of zoo animals at this event) and I get to look at them (some of the most interesting fashion statements, proving that money cannot buy taste), eat really good finger foods, and see what my fellows are creating with their fertile little minds. Fun and frivolity for a Saturday afternoon. Hey, I get two free tickets. Those suckers are $75 each. It's a hell of a deal.

Coming back, again...

The only respite I get from the grief of losing my Boo has been in doing art. Okay, reading helps, too, and meeting with friends, but art is my saving grace. The pastels continue to amaze me in their brilliance, and this prosaic little ditty is amazing to me. I did it with a pastel teacher yesterday, my first work on sanded paper, which I had eschewed until now as just too picky. Man, this is the best thing since sliced bread! It picks up the pigment and HOLDS ONTO IT! Miracolo! Which is miracle in Italian for those of you who do not listen to opera. Now lusting after reams of the stuff. Also, I started this piece with a wet method, using alcohol. Gave it a wonderful ground from which to just sort of bloom on the paper. So, HP, SEND MONEY! I need lots of it to buy more pastels, more paper, FRAMES! Ready to display my work somewhere, hang it up for the very rude world to see.

The Sunday Pickle...

We are learning to soldier on here in the little yellow house without our Boo. His sweet soul resides here even though his presence is gone. Pickle has become an admirable sidekick. We have needed one another in this time and bonded in ways we did not before. Life on life's terms. Today's plan is a meeting at 2 PM under the oaks, where the Pickle is admired and cooed over a lot, then a trip to TJ's for some goodies. Sundays are not my favorite day, but I am working on that. Also Staples is on the list, to turn in all the used printer cartridges I have and look for a replacement so I can print business cards and reference photos and other terribly important things like that. Busy, busy. Honestly, retirement doesn't suck, folks.

Grace, just send me a little grace...

Swans are grace in the medicine wheel, and I always feel heartened when they show up, so I made one, just in case I don't pull one, and I didn't. I pulled mountain lion, which is actually one of my totems, leadership. Explains my proclivity of running for student body offices when I was in school. That, and wanting to look good, without actually being good. Didn't work very well. Another day, a little less sadness, a little less heaviness. Had a good cry last night, when I was sitting here and I thought I felt Boo under the desk, where he always was when I was there. Missed him just something awful in that moment. Today, I just piddled away at stuff, two paintings came out of it, and some time loving up the Pickle, and some time playing the piano(!), which I seem to have been avoiding. Now watching Eureka marathon on SciFi and looking forward to a new episode tonight, along with Warehouse 13 and Rizzoli and Isles. Okay, I am a cheap date. That is the secret to happiness in my book. Oh, and finishing up that potboiler novel and starting another, with probably even less literary value. What can I say? It's who I am.

Strange days...

It looks on the surface like life as usual around here. In reality, I feel like someone upended the house and set it down again. Everything seems weirdly off. Bizarre. Most turned upside down are my insides, that feel bruised and heavy. I am doing better at eating, and find that working in the pastels is a blessed surcease of the inner turmoils. So I did this little one today, very fast, of kingfishers, one of my favorite birds. I did one from a Van Gogh painting in my very first art class. I gave it away. I miss it. Missing things is what is up in this time. It's just another phase of life on life's terms, of course. Navigating unfamiliar waters, and gee, not the first time. Testing my recovery big time. It is intact even when I feel fractured.

Today's second effort...

And probably not the last. There are lots of minutes in an hour to live through.

Moments of grace...

When I am working, picking up little sticks of color and applying them to my work in progress, I am most at peace, and that is a place I want to be today. Grieving is hard work. Every moment is a possible breaking point. There is vigilance even when I am feeling serene, that it may change any moment. And, truth be told, there is nothing awful in the most emotional moments. Sobbing helps. Sometimes, yelling hopes like "HP, You took him away and You better take good care of him!" I feel comfortable yelling at HP. HP is big enough to take anything I dish out, for sure. And here we are, at that time of the day when I kind of melt, 3 PM. Too early to eat dinner - that's always something to do, make dinner. Way too early for bed. So I did another painting. And I am thinking of a third. Marathon painting. Lots of things to look at and do, and someday, frame and exhibit. The Boo opus, done in the deepest moments of grief and loss. Something good out of something tragic. Feels right.

The long road home to myself...

What a complete turnaround! For the wedding, I was all about my outsides. Loofah, exfoliate, work out, tanning cream! Haircut! Mani/pedi! And now, it is all about my inner landscape, my tender emotions, letting waves of grief flow over and through me, yelling, when I felt it necessary, weeping, resting, remembering to eat once in a while. It looks like that's going to be on my menu for a while here. Also have begun giving Pickle sidekick lessons. We have been out in the car a few times, and on the leash, and, though I throw her on the bed every night, she seldom stays for very long. Oh, well, if she is not going to sleep there, I will spread out and luxuriate in having it all to myself for the first time in many a moon. Everything is different. It is like life is NEW here, and newness is always confusing and frightening in the beginning. Hope it settles in soon. I am heavy hearted and kind of just dragging myself from one thing to another. Yes, I created something. And it was the only time I felt like myself, because I was OUT of me, for a little while. That may be the ticket. Just keep painting, just keep painting. I can do that.

Boo and beyond...

Grief is strange. It is like the ocean, coming in waves, and every seventh one is a biggie. If I don't clench up and try to fight it off, it washed over and through me, and I am back to this pale version of myself, one that feels hollow and fragile. And then it comes again. It is all doable. I reach into my program bag and pull out acceptance - it is what it is. And gratitude, for the years of sweetness and the gentle way he left the world, in my arms, just drifted away. And the axiom that it is about action, so I just do the next right thing, like the laundry. Little things elude me. Like eating. Not very interested at the moment, so I bought frozen dinners that I can nuke in minutes and nibble on. I look at this as a new phase of my life, and newness always seems shaky in the beginning. Pickle and I are bonding in a brand new way. We need each other a lot right now. Crying is releasing. It is a good thing. Loss is inevitable in this earthly existence. I can no longer discount it. My heart is cracked wide open here. More room for love there than ever.

Au revoir, my Boo, my heart...

Sweet Boo went to his eternal rest yesterday. He had been fine all week, slower of course, he was getting on, then suddenly had labored breathing. We went to the emergency vet, expecting to come home just fine, but he was in heart failure with fluid in his lungs, and they were unable to arrest it, so we put him down. It was gentle, peaceful and precious, actually. He never suffered, not for a moment. Nothing has hit me as hard as losing this dog. He was my constapanion for 13 years, always there. A huge hole has opened inside me. I cry, then I am all right for a while, busy doing my life, and then, there it is again, the ache. It hurts more to try and control the process. It will just be what it is, I suppose. And I will miss him all the days of my life till we meet again. I now know intimately what it means to be heartbroken.

The days march on, oh, my.

Just checked my bank account balance, oh dear. Well, it's been kind of strained around here lately, and makes me think maybe I should put up a website and try to actually sell some of the work I have been doing so assiduously lo these many years. Funnily enough, every time one leaves the little yellow house, I do that empty nest thing all over again. They are my babies, after all, created out of my angst-filled heart. Mind doesn't often come into the picture. The painting is about heart and guts and HP guiding my hand in a flurry of experimentation. Just love to see what happens when I scumble light over dark, red over blue, yellow over everything! Oh, look! That's interesting. Or it's a mess, but then, most mediums are forgiving. Just add another layer. Gee, would be nice if life were as easy, actually. Just cover over the old faux pas. But then, that would probably be with yet another faux pas, anyway. Don't mind me. I'm nuts today. Oh, never mind. You already knew that, didn't you.

Back to the birds...

Currently, I am taking an antibiotic for a little infection, one that plagues me off and on, and it has made me more nuts than usual. Tender, sensitive little soul that I am, I am easily thrown off balance, physically and emotionally. Sigh. So I reached for my remedy to everything, my pastels and my reference photos and voila! About an hour and a half of noodling around, a lot of it with a QTip, because I wanted all the little valleys of the paper to be covered with pigment, and that takes a hell of a lot of patience to accomplish. I am rather happy, so far. Of course, I will put it aside for a while, walk by it every so often, and undoubtedly will pick up a stick and go at it again. And I will always have this reference photo to return it to if I screw it up. Don't think there is much more to do, though. Maybe I will start something new, and have two new paintings to mark this date in time? One never knows. I just know that my mood is ever so much better when I have unleashed my creativity for a while. Can't quite gripe as much. It's a good thing.

The art of being easily amused...

A long time ago, I learned to laugh at myself. This was not an easy task at first. It seemed that everything I did or said was weighty and important. This led to being very easily embarrassed or frustrated, all the time, because perfection, you know, is unattainable, even by yours truly. Recovery taught me to have fewer expectations of the world, hence fewer resentments, and fewer disappointments. And, one wonderful day, that slopped over onto my self. I laugh a lot more than I ever have now. The dogs are good for that. Hilarious little critters, my poopies. And yesterday, while cruising around on my home page at iGoogle, I found the gadget store. And I added a little hamster to my page. Every time I boot up, there he is, preening or sipping at his water bottle or running in circles on his wheel. Guess I should give him a name? Today, my mouse cursor went through his area, and he followed it around, the way Pickle follows the reflections from the wind chimes that bounce around the office in the afternoon. How cute is that! Okay, slow day in the little yellow house. But, honestly, learn to laugh at yourself, and you will never be without a source of amusement.

My entrourage...

All three of them. Honestly, two dogs is a handful. Three are a herd. The barking lamp is lit in the little yellow house for the duration of Beany's stay. One good thing; he comes when called. Most of the time. Pickle is jealous and has gotten snapped at a couple of times. Boo couldn't care less. It is nice to wake up to Beany's nose on my cheek, I must admit. They are currently lined up here beside me, waiting for my next move, which will probably be to the kitchen for some milk and cookies on my way to the back room for some non-educational TV. Not much of anything happening here at the moment. Just the way I like it. Quiet, too. Porch privileges have been revoked for the rest of the day. Okay, troops. Let's hit the refrigerator!

Aaaarrrrghhhh!

It is the summer of no summer, again. Last time, though, it was just on the coast, at the house on the edge of the world. This time, it has moved inland, where we are having cool days and cold nights. Stranger and stranger. I am doodling around on the Tisiano black paper, and probably this was not a good idea, but, gee, how can I know until I try it? Cowwoman will try anything these days. At the moment, I am tired of the house, dressed in my gym togs and about to head out. Maybe. Laziness sounds good, too. And, surprise! Every time I talk to HP, I always say thank you for my sweet life, my sweet poochies, keep little kiddo and her new hubby safe in Portugal, and, in case She doesn't know it, SEND MONEY, because I could use it. And yesterday, in the mail, I got this Silver Sneakers card from AARP, for a free gym membership, at the gym I already belong to! Yay! $35 a month to spend at JJill! Life is good, yes indeed. And this mess, well, it was fun, and probably will get worked up on the other side, because this paper is hella expensive.

Sonata for a sultry Saturday...

Strange weather for August, barely making it up to 75 degrees, foggy till noon, chilly breeze in the evenings. Sweater weather. I imagine the grapes will be languishing again this year, but, gee folks, you asked for it with your monocultural philosophy. I, on the other hand, have gotten tons done here. I hit my home group this AM, and got all filled up with sobriety, then headed down the 101 to the outlet mall for some retail therapy and gift shopping for baby girl, who is 32 today, and in Portugal on her honeymoon. Sent her an email, hope she remembers where she put her Blackberry. Then came home and noodled around on the Tisiano paper I got at Dick Blick, the Mecca of art supply stores, and got this messy little ditty mostly done, I think. The Bean is outside non-stop barking. Even the Pickle has long since given up the ghost. Boo did his remote barking, standing in the office here, letting out a woof every so often. They are my entourage here in the little yellow house. keeping me company so I don't obsess over my kid and her hubby over there on the other side of the world. I have a feeling a lot more of these little works will manifest in the next few days. Keeps me occupied with a mindful of not very much, always a good thing. Headachy now, headed for early bed with videos (TV sucks on Saturdays), a pithy little novel and three warm puppies. Sweet.

There actually is life after the wedding...

It was so long in the planning, it seemed like it would never happen. And, now, suddenly, it is all over, and gee, life is still here, waiting for me to get back on board the ship. Took out the pastels and noodled around, just to see what would happen. Interesting result, kind of bland but not without charm, and the real lesson is that whatever I can conceive, I can execute with a modicum of patience. Putting the little lady aside and beginning one on my Tisiano black paper I got on my last supply safari to Dick Blick, a bouquet of mostly white flowers. I think that will present its own challenges, don't you think? I need to think of other things than ex-spouses and tricky social situations. Actually, I need to not think at all. Yes, that sounds like just the ticket for a sweet ride to nowhere. All aboard!

And here they are!

The happy, just wed couple at their entrance to the amazing dinner feast. Both are redheads. He is very tall. She wore flats, little gold ones with lots of sparkly rhinestones, very cute. I think she has morphed into Martha Stewart. Hers was a country wedding, MODERN country. There were little flags on every celebrants seat, and the flower girls carried a banner that said "Here comes the bride". Everything printed was coordinated by color and font. The menus that were attached to the napkins (white dishcloths striped in red) with clothespins said "Eat, Drink and Be Married". The cuisine was catered by the groom's mother's catering company, and thrilled even my picky brother, it was sooooo good. I sewed up 22 table runners in beige osnaburg. Coordinating pillows and curtains and flags and pennants abounded. Flowers glowed in Mason jars, succulents in little tin pails. The barn was festooned with row upon row of pennants on rope stretched between the beams overhead, hundreds of them, and cozy seating areas had comfy pillow and throws on the couches behind tables laden with candles and flowers. No cake. We had fruit pies with ice cream. The DJ began with a lot of familiar pieces like "Shout" and "RESPECT", so us old folks got into the mix and everyone danced with everyone. I left around 10, thoroughly tired down to the bone, and with my spirit brimming over for the wonder of my so accomplished and lovely young daughter. My baby is a married woman!

Monday morning, coming down,,,

Notice no picture. Camera is in absentia. I left it behind yesterday morning at the last of the many, many celebrations for my one and only daughter as she wedded her darling Jeff in the sweetest, most tasteful, most coordinated, loveliest wedding ever. Don't worry. Father of the bride in in possession of my little Canon, and now making arrangements to get it back. What a weekend. Fortunately, I planned on a quiet month of recuperation, because I know my tender little self. I am easily over-stimulated, and never more so than over the last 72 hours, which I spent only about 20 asleep. Fatigue and emotional overload led me to spend the remainder of the day Sunday after the requisite day-after-the-wedding brunch, held 40 miles from my front door (I put 200 miles on the Focus this weekend alone) in tears accompanied by some primal screaming, which the dogs tolerated fairly well, they were so happy to have me home for a change. Little girl is on her way to Portugal as we speak, for two weeks of European decompressing. Gee, that would be nice, wouldn't it. Cannot tell you how beautiful and sophisticated she was. Check out Carrie Bradshaw in the first Sex and the City movie for reference photos (no bird on her head though, just a tasteful fascinator). Groom was suitably dashing, himself. All was wondrous, sparkly around the edges, Wonderland of homespun and simplicity. Proud isn't a big enough word. Pictures to follow. Meanwhile, still in jammies, on way to milk and cookies and nothing worthwhile, for a while.