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.

Poor Pickle...

For the first week of the Punk, he was too little to climb up on the big doggie doughnut under the computer desk. Now, that's all changed. He can get up the back steps. He can jump off the couch, just launch himself into space. What a guy! There is only one refuge for his sister, on the bed. And that is only a matter of time, too. Gosh, they grow up so fast. Meanwhile, lots going on in the cowwoman's life. Today is the memorial mass for my father, big FOO (family of origin) and ROO (religion of origin) reunion. I am over most of the regret stuff, anger stuff, and the sense of loss that comes from big change too fast. Puppy helps a lot. Nevertheless, another loss this week, a dear friend who lost his battle with depression and took his own life. Though I know he suffered, and from his point of view took the only avenue to relief, I will miss him. When I was in that place, I felt that I was a burden to everyone I loved. I am sure he felt that, too. This life can get very heavy. For him, it did not change despite all his best efforts. Peace, dear spiritual warrior. I wish he could have hugged the puppy first.

Work in progress...

This is how much I can get done while the Punk is napping. Of course, I don't have any large pieces of black paper. That would make this so much easier. On payday, this Friday, I am ordering a bunch from Dick Blick. None of the art stores here in town carry Fabriano Tiziano, my fave. I don't think pastels are a particularly popular medium, so I feel blessed I can get really good sticks, but the paper, ah, there's the rub. Anyway, this is shaping up nicely. Somehow, I think if I don't paint for a while, I will forget how to do it. Actually, if I painted 24/7, I would still feel that way. I don't know how to do it, really. I just keep working at it, and it happens. There is such a lovely passivity about it all. It's all part of my bizarre little life as an artist. I hope someday I will feel like I have really arrived. Maybe it is enough to just be on the journey. Yes, that's the ticket. Trucking along here.

It's not easy being me, redux...

We are rising early in the little yellow house. Like, at freaking DAWN. Okay, I knew this would happen. This is, after all, the fourth puppy I have raised in my sobriety, 22 years of it. Puppies listen only to their own internal clock. At least, for the first couple of weeks. We are easing the Punk into our lives. Oh, hell, the Punk is running the whole show. So, not much time to do anything I like, like make art. Instead, I pick away at pieces that are laying limp on the drawing board. Like I warmed up this sweet owl (which, I found out yesterday as I perused the owl lexicon online, is the only blue-eyed version of this incredible raptor). Also did some explaining, like where is he hanging on, anyway? Meanwhile, finally got the Punk to settle into his midmorning nap so I can get dressed and ready for MY day. Pickle is draped across the bed, little sniffy morning for my Pickle, who needs more time to get with the program than Punkin wants to give her, and told her off first thing. Though, wonder of wonders, he can now negotiate the steps up into the house, so I can leave the two of them in the yard and go make coffee, knowing he will follow his big sister into the house once he has finished his business. And yes, he always does his business. Wonderful little guy, actually, and a wonderful idea. My grief has subsided for the most part. I was comparing Punkin to dear Boo, thinking he is so very mellow and may be channeling my Boo's sweet spirit, except he didn't like to be on his back, when Punkin rolled over and slept that way, just like his darling departed brother used to do. Oh, Punkin was a great idea, for sure.

Oh, so nice to be doing something else...

It seems all I have done for this whole week is watch the puppy, feed the puppy, walk the puppy, puppy, puppy, puppy. Okay, that is the way it is with a new one, constant supervision. The Pickle is not happy, and likely to snap at Punkin and even do something really harmful. So, we have puppy-to-go a lot, Punkin in a bag, Punkin in a zip-up container. So far we have been to meetings, to Trader Joe's, to the Dollar Tree, the library. It's all good, actually, and easy to do. For a while. And now we are on a loosey-goosey schedule that allows me some ME time in the afternoon, so I got to do some quick paintings today. Not into big details and really, I don't think it is necessary, do you? This took about half an hour, and I like it just the way it is. Of course, it is all about the black paper, which I think is just magical in the way everything gets all dramatic without even trying. I need easy right now. Still recovering from a few nights of not sleeping. Hell, I'm going to need to recover from getting up at 7 AM every day. Not my style or inclination. Whatever, I had so much fun getting all fierce with the tiger. Just hope it is not like those black velvet paintings that were so big in the 70s. Too cutesy?

Surprise!

Punkin arrived last night. He didn't come into the same terminal that Pickle did, which shows you how carefully I read the email from the airline. After we parked, took the AirTrain to the Continental terminal, found our way to arrivals, asked three different counter persons, we were directed to the cargo building, five minutes down the street. So we backtracked, found our car (major victory there), found our way out of the garage, and took the wrong exit. So we made a big loop and came back, my sidekick reading addresses till we found our destination. Okay, lots of confusion, but we had allowed ourselves plenty of time. He had been on the ground only about 10 minutes when we arrived, and the nice clerk snipped those heavy duty plastic ties so we could extricate him from his crate. Now, I read that the shipping weight was 3 lbs. I thought that was 3 lbs of puppy. It was actually 3 lbs total, crate, puppy, and bag of food! This is one tiny pooch. Also one delightful little personality. He was so good riding home for the 1 1/2 hours in my friend's lap. I put him down on the front lawn once we arrived and he piddled. An hour later, we were all asleep, the pack of three, on the bed. He woke up on Texas time, really early, I put my hand under his head, he fell back to sleep. I didn't, but, hey, Punkin is the boss for a while. Today, I took him out, he piddled, I fed him, took him out, he pooed. He loves the backyard, romps around like a little rabbit. Pickle was overtly jealous last night, though she got her usual amount of attention, too. Today, they played together! And Punkin went for his first foray in the tote bag, to Western Farm Supply for a smaller collar and some chew sticks. He did just fine. He likes his enclosure in the kitchen, his big, big dog bed. and especially the black and white cow toy that is big enough to be his brother. He's a prince, my Punkin.

Painful admissions...

Okay, I have been horridly naive about my mouse problem. Foolish me, I kept thinking there was only one mouse, and every time I caught one, another moved in. I caught two today. I drove the first one over to the same field where I let his brother go. The second one is in a deep plastic pitcher, and he is a feisty one, almost managed to jump out before I put the lid on. Needed to bait the trap again right away. I couldn't find the peanut butter, it got behind the milk somehow, so I used raspberry jam. My mice seem to prefer that. Will it ever end? Let us hope so. I plan on putting a lamp by the dog door if I leave it open at night. I notice my mice do not like the light very much.

Didn't get to pick up Punkin today. He missed his plane. So he is arriving on a late flight tomorrow instead. This is probably a good thing, what with all the mouse excitement, and the half day teaching sixth graders a lesson in fine art. Now, I thought these kids would be mature. Boy, was I wrong. I remember being 5'8" tall in 6th grade. I read Gone with the Wind that year (and Lolita, though my mother still doesn't know that). It was interesting to note that almost no one did the lesson as I taught it. And since my whole thrust was individual, personal creations in whatever colors they wanted, that was okay. My worst fear was that there would not be enough time to finish the project. In my first class, everyone was pretty much done 25 minutes early. I got them to work a little more, here and there, gave them more information, then had them come up, 3 or 4 at a time, to show their art, and everyone got a hand. My friend to roped me into this was thrilled with the outcome. I kind of felt that they could have done better. $80 worth of pastels got thoroughly beat up, but they now belong to the school anyway. I got paid, yay. And I stretched myself. Comfort zone is now larger than ever. And I am really tired. Have all kinds of new respect for teachers, let me tell you. Some of those boys would be hard to handle one on one. Everyone said they had fun. Hey, I did, too. A couple of kids did amazing work. I was properly amazed by each child's rendering, how different they all were, how intense they were about the process. Would be nice to think an artist or two was born today.

Me -1, Mouse -0

Another victory for the cowwoman. Let me tell you, these little guys are formidable opponents. This is mouse #3. I caught the first one by sheer luck, when Pickle scared it as it noshed away on my oatmeal bath stuff and it leaped into a plastic pitcher and could not get out. Next one I caught in this self-same trap, the second humane trap I tried, after much trial and error, and a lot of peanut butter. The day after I released the second little bugger, another moved in. (Pretty sure there has not been more than one, judging by the miniscule leavings. ) I wondered if the same mouse traveled down the street from the field I released him in, and just waltzed back into the stove. Now that I see him, I realize this is a much smaller guy. And the smaller they are, the harder they are to catch. It takes a little weight to trip the trigger in the trap. But I am smarter than the average mouse. I not only wrapped the bread with thread before spreading peanut butter on it, I anchored the tidbit around a heavy pair of scissors, so the mouse could not flit in, drag out the morsel, and disappear down one of the burners of the stove. I am cleaning the stove zealously this afternoon, and praying that this is the last of the little guys for a while. That would be nice.

What did I do wrong?

You know how it is. You plan, God laughs. Monday, email in hand, I sojourned to the bank to empty my account and pay $5 for a cashier's check, then to our Central branch of the Post Office, that denizen of unhappy, homicidal folks, to pay $21.35 for express mail, return receipt requested, so I can get my puppy shipped to me on this Friday. To be honest, they told me it would not be overnight, but Wednesday, at the latest. So, of course, email this morning from the breeder - she did not get the check. Since it was after 3 PM her time at the moment I opened the email, I tried to track it online. No go. So, I jumped on my horse and went back to the post office, where they told me, after having me cool my heels for an interminable length of time, the, yes, it was scanned delivered, at 12:15 PM Texas time. Back to the house, where, of course, there was a second email -never mind, it came. Meanwhile, I was in bargaining mode with HP. WTF, I've been good all week! Not a single solitary mean word to anyone, not even the Pickle! I DESERVE this puppy! Well, to be fair I had just returned from my monthly trip to a treatment center, where, usually, I am with a team of folks who present a video, follow a format, and have the proper blue cards to distribute to those leaving the facility who would like help getting to their first few AA meetings out in the cruel world, and my team didn't show, leaving me out there on that limb. I improvised, got a list of those who wanted to avail themselves of our help. Hell, I've been sober 22 years. Not very much surprises me. Except when things go wrong when they shouldn't go wrong. And I guess they really didn't, did they. Oh, just let me get the Punkin home safely. Little package of love flying in Friday. How sweet it is.

The Puppy Pick-Up Tradition.

Here's how that goes. We set off with great big coffee drinks, something with whipped cream and sprinkles and a gazillion calories. Our journey down the 101 corridor is fast and easy and we get to the airport just fine. Then things get dicey. We park in the wrong lot and get on the wrong skytrain and wind up in long term parking. Then we get off in the international terminal and walk a mile or so before we get where we need to be. The plane will be late. The breeder will call all anxious because she never sent one that far before. When he does arrive, this time we will have heavy-duty scissors to get the blankety-blank plastic ties off so we can get him out of his grate (unlike last time, when we had to disassemble it.) Then we will head home in godawful commute traffic, miss our off ramp and wind up roller-coasting over the San Francisco hills to Lombard and on to the Golden Gate Bridge. We stop in Marin at the In and Out, for hamburgers, fries, milkshakes, and a puppy airing. Then we crawl home through the Novato narrows and the Santa Rosa trudge. What can I say, it's an adventure! Actually, Punkin is coming in on the same flight Pickle arrived on. Experience should let us be more productive and less scattered. Of course, there are even more things that could go wrong. Just praying my new little guy gets here without any traumatic experiences. He's only 8 weeks old, you know.

It's a boy!

The cowwoman is adopting a new baby. He is scheduled to arrive Friday, flying in from Texas. I found him on the same website where I found my Pickle, a secure breeder's site approved by the AKC. Unlike Pickle, I do not have a designated name for him, but I am thinking maybe Dilly, or Dandy, or PoohBear, or Bingley, or Frodo, or ... Maybe I will have a contest. Maybe I will know when I see him in person. I went with a mixed breed, because Boo was a mixed breed and such a great dog. New kid is Shih Tzu and Poodle, and his folks are both under 10 lbs, so he may be smaller, too. That's nice, because I like to put my constapanion in a tote bag and go a lot. Boo sat under tables in restaurants (just feed him a taco chip or morsel of French bread once in a while), went Christmas shopping with me, rode in the baby seat of my shopping cart. It was a real temptation to find one that looked like Boo, same markings, and, wow, there were several out there. New kid is similar in his face (and this picture with his tongue hanging out was a big selling point for me, so like Boo), and he is black and white, but not all black like Boo, and he has more nose, I think. I may have to learn about grooming. Both of his breeds have beaucoup coat. Oh, just so happy here. I need a warm puppy at this time. It's good to have a purpose. Getting the house puppy-proofed should keep me out of the stinkin' doldrums.

Wisdom from bumper stickers...

I saw a dandy at Trader Joe's the other day. It said "I support the separation of church and hate." Oh, yeah. I agree with Jesus's philosophy, and know that every one of us embodies the divine. We are meant to love one another, even when we are not very lovable. If that is true of an individual, I love them from a distance, and I frequently pray for them, that they receive their highest good, whatever God decides that is. A good whack up the side of the head always sounds good to me, but hey, what do I know! Frankly, I don't know a lot of Christian sects that accept the fringe elements, like gays, into their fold. Nor do I know of ANY who treat women the same as men. Really, folks. The Bible was written 3,000 years ago. Isn't it time to kill the myth that Eve was created as a handmaiden? Haven't we stood up and been real human beings in that time? Okay, I still see women objectified, especially in advertising. It helps that men are now also becoming more and more objectified, I suppose. Let's go back to the real truth. Human DNA is less dissimilar than penguin DNA. What we look like and what gender we are, that is all the frosting on the cake. The real stuff is what goes on inside, very complicated systems that all need to work together so we can breathe at all. In the end, we are all just individual expressions of the divine. I want to embrace the diversity. I go to a New Age church, where the message is all about the great Oneness that is our Universe, and the Mind that directs it all. Pretty sweet message. All kinds of folks show up. All are seeking spiritually. It has grown a lot in the last 20 years. So, down with the hateful thinking that is so prevalent in our society. Let's leave all that to the Republicans.

Hello, now goodbye!

Big shock this morning. I caught the mouse! Not the best picture, but I wasn't about to take him out for his closeup. Believe me, I was surprised. Finally found a method that worked: bread wound with thread spread with peanut butter. Catches his teeth, so he has to struggle enough to trip the trigger and close the trap. I had a moment when I wanted to go down to the Farm Supply and get him a little cage, keep him. And then I remembered he only came out when it was dark, and that would not render him a happy pet. So I released him, several houses down the street. Actually, in the yard of the woman who recently yelled at me when I cornered an errant Pickle in her sideyard. Okay, probably not my best moment. But hell, two birds with one stone, and all that. Let us hope mouseypoo doesn't find his way home to my stove. And if he does, well I've got his number. Grateful to find I really am smarter than the rodent.

It's the end of the world as we know it...

Well, holy validation, Batman! I am actually right where I am supposed to be. A friend (not a real close one, just one of those I found when I was trawling for friends on Facebook, back when I thought there was a contest about how many friends one can have) posted the Hospice Grief Wheel. After Shock and Protest (which were actually the fun stages) comes Disorganization, where I am stuck at the moment. It includes apathy, loss of interest, disorientation, anxiety, confusion, impatience, and a feeling of unreality. Yep, that's me at the moment. Total lumpsucker mode. Remember the lumpsuckers, these poor little fat fish that kind of bounce along the bottom because they can't swim very well? That's moi. It is 11:30 AM, I am sitting here staring at the computer screen, in my PJs still. No plan for the day. Nada. Zipididoodah. I suppose that is just fine, actually. Oh, mother is giving us kids (67, 64 and 62 year old kids, that is) some $$$, yay. My plan, get a new puppy. I know I am not well because the whole thing has me bound up in fear. But that is the plan, anyway. Fluffy little boy. Bingley. More later.

Oh, the hell with it...

I go through times when I am sure I have lost my mind. Cannot concentrate on anything for very long. Banging on the stove to scare the bejesus out of that damned mouse. Watching the same movie, over and over and over. Well, to be honest, nothing has spun my beanie on the boob tube for a while, and this stupid little romantic comedy keeps showing, Something Borrowed. I just think that little Ginnifer What's-her-name is adorable, as well as the guy whose name I still don't know, and the cute kid from the office. Kate Hudson is looking a little overblown, though, and God, she is the KID of Goldie Hawn, who I think is younger than I! I read on my home page today that to get where you are going, you have to start where you are. Does that apply when where you are going is the funny farm? Sigh. So I painted something. I wonder if the painting is okay? I wonder about everything these days. I wonder if I can dedicate myself to eat the whole bag of spinach while staring at the produce section of TJ's. That particular pondering led to an incipient panic attack. Yep. Definitely around the bend here. What would help? Therapy? Thinking about it. Let's see what's up tomorrow. Too late to call anyone tonight, anyway. And too late to worry about everything that did not get done today. At least, something did. Now wondering if I have the energy to fold the laundry that has languished in the dryer for two days now. Hey, I could have forgotten it was even there. Could be worse.

A mouse in the stove update...

I have that little sucker on the run. Did I mention I plugged up the hole he was using to get under the sink? With a wadded up plastic bag and a big bunch of duct tape. Yep. And that drove him out into the open today, when I saw him dart from the bathroom into the laundry room. That guy can motor! Then, just when I was hoping he continued on out the dog door, I saw him duck into one of the burners of the stove. Again. So, I cleaned the oven. Fumes almost did me in. Hope he got a snootful, too. In case that didn't discourage him, I ordered another humane trap. Now have spent $30 trying to catch the little bugger. Praying that will happen soon. Oh, and decided I looked positively fried in my current self portrait, so I smoothed out my eye bags, and decreased my lower lip, that looked like I did one of those injection thingies Goldie Hawn did in The First Wive's Club. Hopefully, I look amused. This was certainly an amusing day. Did I mention that I bang on the stovetop every time I go by? Fortunate thing I live alone, and the only one to witness my behavior is a pokey little Pekingese. Ah, the life of the cowwoman is rich, indeed.

Je m'amuse...

Kind of bottom feeding here. Can't think of anything to do. Let's see. I could: play the piano, vacuum the living room, hammer away at the laptop I have sitting on the table, finish the framing, whack away at the overgrown yard(s), wash the Pickle, take a walk, hell, even go to the GYM (like that will ever happen again). Instead, I did this rather unhappy little self-portrait. What can I say. I am not a glamorous person. I have a piggy little nose. Nice mouth, even if it is pulled into my chin more than ever with those Howdy Doody lines. Oh, well. Something will appeal to me, sooner or later. Soap opera coming up. Fifth Sookie Stackhouse novel to muck around in. It isn't a total loss, no not at all. And this too shall pass. Yes. Soon would be nice.

The sweet smell of validation...

It's not a secret that I love music, mostly classical or art music, but lots of other stuff too, especially soundtracks. I own a big bunch of soundtrack albums. And I was happy as a hog in you-know-what when I found that my local classical station felt the same way about movie music, that it was the contemporary classical music. This week, as we approach the Oscars, they are playing a count-down of the top 100 film scores, and as they approach 25 so far, I own many of them. They started at No. 1 this time, which was John Barry's Out of Africa. Got it. Also in the top 10 was Dances with Wolves. Check. And Pride and Prejudice by I-can-never-remember-who, Patrick Doyle's Sense and Sensibility, Howard Shore's Lord of the Rings, John Williams Jurassic Park and ET and Harry Potter. Check, check, check, check, check and check. But then there was Max Steiner's Gone with the Wind, and Maurice Jarre's Lawrence of Arabia. I own those on VINYL! Must get some of the Hitchcock movies, other than Spellbound, which I already own. Vertigo was up there in the top 25, and I heard that theme repeated in the new movie, The Artist, which is destined to take the top prize this year. Okay, all excited here about pretty much nothing, but, hey, happy today, and that is saying something after my trip to the bottom of my ocean recently. Not swimming yet, but treading water like mad. And working on this pitiful piece, which just refuses to be scintillating. Can't hit that bullseye every time, I guess.

Perhaps, maybe the final, final version...

Tricky little piece, this. I decided it was too bland in its values, so I darkened the reeds, particularly behind the bird, who once again got punched up and more defined. I love these birds. They used to float by my window in my little place a few blocks away, where I learned to be sober in my early recovery. Kind of like silent ghosts, these birds. And there was a tree a couple of blocks away where they roosted. Someone cut it down. Probably because of the mess underneath it. It is such a wonder that, with just a little attention, I can rescue a piece that is driving me bugnuts. I liked the composition from the beginning. Just a puzzle what was not working. And then, I puzzed it out!

And when in doubt, do this...

I think artists in the past did self-portraits when they couldn't think of anything else to paint. I certainly do that. I didn't even have my glasses on this morning when I began noodling away with this image I had scratched onto the paper before I went to bed last night, after nightly mouse patrol to be certain there was not the tiniest crumb of food for that pest before I hit the sheets. Friends complain that I am prettier than my efforts, so I glamorized myself some, and gee, I got younger, too! Wasn't looking at myself in a mirror. Hell, I have done this so many times, and seen my image so many times, I can do me in my sleep. You think that if I alter me in the picture, I could be that me in the flesh? Like Dorian Gray? Guess not. Also left off the glasses, and to be truthful, I didn't have them on for most of the process. And I don't have the proper pigments for portraits, so had to make due with a range of reds and yellows. I like the pensive pose. That was an accident. Love those happy accidents! I left her all rough. That works for me. Ah, to have that neck again!

Don't know what I'm doing, but doing it anyway.

I tuned in to one of my half a million channels yesterday and caught a showing of Bottle Shock, wonderful indie film starring some of my favorite unsung heroes like Alan Rickman, Bill Pullman, and a current fave, Chris Pine, about a wine competition in France about 40 years ago that was won by a tiny winery in Napa Valley. Anything that distracts me from my current ennui is welcome here. So I took my little vase of violently purple irises and put them between me and the TV, on the kitchen counter, and slapped away with my heavy little hand, and here is the newest Trader Joe bouquet immortalized. Can you see that I don't really care very much what happens here? Or perhaps, I am just letting God do the painting. Still aching inside, don't know what it is all about, but it seems to be old wounds in active bleeding stage, and the only respite I get is when I am working at my "art". Of course, still not sure that is what it is. I am in illustrious company there, because none of us "artists" really ever feel that what we do is really "art". Not worrying too much about that at the moment. Just trying to keep from sinking to the bottom of the pond. Just treading water. Can't seem to swim yet.

Thing change...

I was thinking of just letting this be one of those what-was-I-thinking pieces, a vain effort to impress my teacher, one that had lost all its freshness, a trait she said she admired me for, which is just another way of saying I work fast and loose and have the guts to just leave it at that. And then I came back and decided it was worth resurrecting from its overworked state, by, strangely enough, working on it some more. So I remodeled the bird, dialed down the orange pigment in the foreground and did some diddling with the water, and gee, it came out pretty swell after all. funny how that can happen now. I also dipped into my new box of pigments, oh, joy of joys! Teacher told me how to clean the old ones that are looking so grungy (read USED), by grinding up some rice, putting them it in a jar with pigments of similar color and shaking gently. Going to try this. It is always a moment of supreme displeasure when I lay down a pigment and find it smeared with other hues, even though I did that myself. I work in such a frenzy of joyous creativity, you know. It just flows out of me. What a gift! So grateful.

A cow for all seasons...

I took this little work to my class yesterday because it just didn't have much umph. You know, it was flat and kind of not-very-much. No muchness. And my teacher told me what I kind of already knew. The background was too blue against the orangeness of the Hereford. So I got out the new set, the 80 (oh, count 'em, 80!) Sennelier pastels and fiddled a little, got all scumbly, and gee, isn't this fun? Teacher told me I am "heavy-handed". Didn't know if that was good or bad, though it didn't sound all that complimentary. However, later she said my work was "fresh". Yes, I will take that. It is not overworked very often and shows my process. Sometimes, it is downright indecent how fast I work, and how sweet the outcome is. I think there are a few little swipes I could take of this cow. For one thing it took four or five tries to get the eyes even. Think I would measure that when I first draw my image in? Nah. I'm an eyeballing kind of gal. I am always wantint more on the paper than is there, and work with a frenzy to get it all there before thinking about things like that. In that way, my teacher and I are alike. No futzing around in the beginning. But from that point on, we differ. From that point, she futzes. Not this gal. Guess I can life with being heavy-handed. So far, it is working for me.

A day in the life...

Nowadays, I never know what I may have to deal with from moment to moment. Sometimes, I wake up, it is all normal and fine. Other days, like today, I would rather just pull the covers over me and hide there, forever. I get up because the Pickle needs to be fed. I make coffee, because that is what I do when I get up. I bathe, because it is bath day (every other day now that my skin is so very dry). I answer my phone. I go to my noon meeting, because it is Tuesday. One foot in front of another. Then I went to the Tuesday pastel class at the neighborhood art supply store, and peck away at a particularly fussy painting. My teacher is kind of fussy. I catch it from her, I think. Probably, I will mute out some of this fussiness, and it will be MY painting when it is done, instead of hers. Yes, I definitely think that will happen. Meanwhile, another day in my tiny life, almost gone. There is a good little mystery novel waiting for me in the bedroom, along with a warm puppy. Nothing terribly wrong. Just a down time. If we were smart, we would all hibernate, anyway.

Monday musings...

It is cold here, in the 50s and damp. I am sitting in my computer/music/library/temporary dining room until I finish the framing room, watching this skinny guy lug his purloined shopping cart up and down my tiny street, checking recycling cans for aluminum. He lifted the lid of my itty bitty generic garbage can, then dropped it without a second look. And I thought, hey! My garbage not good enough for you. Okay, now getting a grip. If it is cold in the little yellow house, it is much colder out there. When I think about it, I never saw a homeless person when I was growing up. Of course, I lived in a small town, where everyone messed in everyone else's business, and everyone knew everyone, so folks like that got taken care of, one way of another. They got tucked away in state hospitals, for one thing. Don't have any of those available any more. Thank you, Ronnie. Sad state we are in, going backward, not taking care of one another any more. Oh, I wouldn't want to go back to those days. No computer, no DVR, hell, no satellite TV. I don't think we were thinking about anyone but ourselves when we swept our neighborhoods clean of indigents we so charmingly called bums. There is a much greater chance here and now that we will evolve our thinking into something a little more kind and compassionate. It may have something to do with most of our population is over the hill agewise, facing the Great Reward, and wanting to actually deserve it. You think? Me, I will just keep holding a space for that skinny guy in my consciousness, hoping he gathers enough cans to eat today. It's good to have a goal, you know. And it seems that he works awfully hard doing this. Too bad someone isn't paying him. Oh, and here's the beginning of (yet-another) cow opus. Sweet baby cow, with big cow eyes.

Itsy bitsy, teeny weeny, and out of focus, oh, well....

Tiny painting we did in pastel class today, about 3x5. We started with pigment laid down, then went in with alcohol to spread it around, and painted with the pigments on top once it had dried. Everyone did one, they were all different. Mine was not the most brilliant, but I liked it a lot when I got done. This teacher is so good at helping me work a little more pickily, keep pushing it when I want to quit. I'd like to carry her around in my pocket to cheer me on in all my doings, actually. Lordy, life can be so incredibly hard. Still kind of out of focus myself, so this is a good example of what is going on in the little yellow house at the moment. Just turning into the skid, trusting this is all temporary and will change any time soon. Now would be nice.

Sorry to say...

I accidentally listened to the news tonight. I do my best not to do that. It always upsets me. And the Republicans are so good at that, you know. This is the party of smug Christians who know better how to live my life than I do, but turn around and diddle their little aides and interns, cheat on their lovely wives, and abuse their power all over the place. In case we have forgotten, our government divides church and state, keeping one out of the other. In the beginning, it was about keeping state out of religion. When are we going to get the religion out of the state? We all get to believe whatever we want, that's a freedom we are guaranteed. And I believe that the first man who mentions his "faith" should have been ridden out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered. Tell me you will beef up education. Tell me you will keep our military strong. Tell me ALL will have equal rights (yes, even women and gays). Let me breeze along newly paved highways and stand on a strong infrastructure. Just stay out of my bedroom, and away from my reproductive system. If YOU don't like abortion, well, YOU don't have one. But don't YOU say I can't. Especially if you are a male. What the hell do MEN have to say about making babies, beyond their one shot hitting the mark? Okay, I feel better. Now back to making art, like this quick study in preparation for my upcoming class. I think this is the image we will work from. Choose one light warm, one light cool, one dark warm, and one dark cool color. Do the underlying layers, working some on top of others. Repeat, working the vertical trees over the layers. Scumble some more. Voila! I think the kids will have a lot of fun with this, and be mightily surprised with the results. No more news for this apolitical animal. Just gets in the way of the joy.

Flatlining here...

I seem to have lost my muchness, again. Oh, too much change, too fast. Snapping back is not so easy now that I am older than dirt and out of shape. The old part is not my fault. The out of shape part is. Hardest thing to do is get back up on that horse. I think I hate exercise. Then I start doing it again, and find that it really makes me feel wondrous, physically and emotionally. I get to pat myself on the back, pin roses on my nose, jump around and flex my biceps. Maybe that will start again. Soon, I hope. Meanwhile, I got my hair cut. That always makes me feel lighter and in the path of good self care. Gee, I have some good excuses to be indolent. And, on top of everything else, it's freakin' winter, the time when sensible mammals hibernate! Yeah.

Turtling here...

Pulled my head in and just didn't do a damn thing today. Well, I did super-clean the stove, go online for hints from Havahart mousetraps, and set the scene to catch that *&^%$@* mouse that has taken up residence in the stove. Not a crumb in the whole kitchen, except in the trap, and the little sucker will have to climb on top of the trigger to get it down, as I hung it from the ceiling of the trap. My bet is that he is so small that he could scamper all around the inside of the trap without disturbing a hair. Hope this works. Not that I am complaining, my kitchen has not been this clean since the day I moved in. Oh, and I did this totally overworked and overthought Wolf Kahn homage, practicing for my upcoming debut at Art Day before a passel of 5th or 6th graders. No pressure there, right? And, gee, it is good to be able to tell them what NOT to do, too. Yes.

I had this idea...

A friend wanted me, the ARTIST me, to teach a class on Art Day at her son's elementary school. So I picked through some ideas and decided that what I like most is color. And an artist who personifies that is Wolf Kahn. I love reinventing the world in different hues. Isn't anyone else tired of green trees, or blue skies? Gee, there are so many other options. So I am going to have me kids recreate a Wolf Kahn composition in their selection of colors, after a little introduction to their wondrous attributes, such as how red can be warm or cool, and the great appeal of contrasting value, and how cool colors seem to recede and warm colors come forward. Then I sat down (well actually, I stood up, at the kitchen counter), and rendered one of the paintings on an old calendar, to see how difficult it would be. Easy peasy. Sixth graders will have a ball doing this. And, in the end, have a colorful piece to hang on their family fridge. And learn that artists rule the world. Yes.

Work, and work some more...

I went to see my teacher today in her Tuesday drop-in class. She pronounced three of the horse opus done deals. This is always good to know, that I am right in my instinct to STOP. A couple of others she made suggestions that I respect a lot, and I will be amending those, but not a whole lot. This one I did there, and not a good idea, actually, to work on something as complicated as this at a different angle. I usually stand and work flat at a counter. There, I sat with my board in my lap. As a result, my red horse got pretty wonky - too long in the body. Trimming him down is a feat, as I now have several layers of pigment in the background to cover my faux pas. Oh, well. The paper has two sides, you know. This frenzy of work keeps me grounded in a time when I feel very free-floating. Too much huge change going on here. Stretching myself as a result. Not a bad idea, I think. Okay, this one will be needing a lot of attention around the edges of things. That is where it gets complicated. In the painting, and in life in general. Bumping up against a lot of stuff at this time, that's for sure. Newness. Loss. Strangeness.

Fast and loose...

I have been reflecting on my life, back in the beginning, when I was wet and wild. I realize now that I am all dried up and tame as an old dog that I am grateful for being kind of bad. I have all these memories of guys I tangled with, in and out of the sheets. And places I went and things I did and, gee, it will all make a dandy novel someday, like after my mother dies so she is not shamed into the grave. My mother was married to my father for 69 years. No doubt they had some good times - many friends when they were young. But I doubt her memories in the sack are anything like mine. Yep, happy for the booze and the guys, the sailboat rides around the Bay, drinking at all the yacht clubs, the concerts on the grass in the summer, the strip Parchesi games, getting my portrait painted in the nude (once for my boyfriend, two more times for the sexy artist), yep, it was a hoot. So I painted these young'uns, just because I was remembering my frisky days. Black paper makes them all loose and sketchy, and I really love them now that I look at them here. Daring to be an expressionist! Still got it, you know!

Another equine work

Challenging to do in this medium, those spindly legs, and it is coming together nicely, I think. Persistence pays off. Not happy yet with the particulars in the sky, but now that the horses are set, it is easier to get creative with the backdrop. Meanwhile, life is doing its thing here in the little yellow house. Had the first meeting of the Fourth Friday Brown Bag Lunch Writer's Group, and stirred up some stuff with my guy and gals. It looks like it will get off the ground, after some sputtering, and gee, maybe I will actually get to FINISH something I have begun. Very good at beginning, stuff, you know. Hot idea! Then, fizzle, fizzle. Everyone had their own thrust, everyone has their own medium, everyone has their own hangups. Nice to be among my people!

Musings for a day in January...

It is my son's birthday. We already celebrated on Thursday with a dinner in a somewhat central location south of here, and though he was traveling with the commute, and his father, stepmother and I in the reverse commute, he got there first, and waited a long time for us, me in particular, as I couldn't find a parking place for the longest time. Important, you know, to honor those special days, and he is my precious boy, even at 43 years of age. I have been musing on the magic karma that brings souls together, to learn and grow with one another. Particularly, I am wondering why I cannot love Pickle in the same way I loved Boo. She is certainly adorable, with those huge limpid eyes, and she now lays in the exact spot Boo used to on the bed, and gives me the same stinkeye when I accidentally (or on purpose) wake her, usually to say good night. But, try as I may, it is not the same. Was it that wonderful dusty toasty smell? Or the little noises he made? Or that long, long pink tongue that could lick his eyebrows? Whatever, Pickle cannot stir the ashes and revive that flaming love. Oh, I can love her. It's just different. Loss. It's no day at the beach. And here are my newest beasts, still in embryo, and the most challenging yet, because they are so simple and really need the exact right definition, and it's just not there yet. Bringing in the big guns, the Senneliers, that should perk things up. And I could use some of that, too, some perking up. Soul is dragging on the ground behind me. Missing my baby boy, all grown up and gone, and my Boo, gone forever. Changes. Bleh!

Pin a rose on my nose!

No, not talking about the new horse, though he is rather nice, n'est-ce pas? I woke up today and thought, oh, hell, DENTIST. Well, it was just a cleaning, and gee, I had other errands to do, anyway, so off I went, just a little frazzled around the edges. I have conquered my fear with this very sweet dental office, where they know not to make any sudden moves. This was for my cleaning, and my experiences have been something like that scene in Marathon Man, where an evil Laurence Olivier tortures Dustin Hoffman. And, wow, they used this handy dandy ultrasound thingy to clean under the gumline, then had just a minimal amount of scaling after, and not even a twinge of pain did I feel. A little polishing, and I was done. Even better, I got an atta-girl for my exemplary dental hygiene, definitely a first for this old gal. So, YAY. Done for six months, unless I sell a bunch of paintings and get enough for a couple more root canals and crowns. Slowly, but surely, getting all done here. And the painting, well, it has come a long way, and will probably stay this way till I see something that needs major adjustment. At the moment, nothing is popping out at me. I did this on orange paper, and it seems to have worked pretty well. Very excited about the subject. Actually, this was one thing I thought I couldn't do, not by the hair on my chinny chin chin, and then just did it anyway. Awesome! Thank you, Universe!

Feeling like I am free floating here...

So many big life-changing events, and way out of my familiar routines. Hopefully, that will now settle down. It seemed like a good time to make a deliberate change, and dump Comcast, again. In my seven years in the little yellow house, I have had three different cable/internet/phone providers, two of them more than once. Now back to my favorite, Direct TV, who has set me up with the DVR in my bedroom, where I watch most of what I watch. Just forgot that now I have a new pantheon of channels to negotiate, and many are on east coast feed, so my familiar shows now come on three hours earlier. Strange, but true. Now I am even more disoriented in my own tidy little abode. And then there was the trip to the Comcast command central to return my equipment, which I polished up for them. Comcast is like the DMV. You take a number based on your business there (pay bill, equipment issues, new service, etc.) then sink into one of their cushy couches and wait. I think Bozo the Clown decorated for them, in gray and chartreuse, with little bubbles in the carpet. Really enough to cause an acid flashback. I had my spiel all memorized, excuses why I didn't want their godawful service any more, like I lost all my DVRd shows beaucoup times, and had to stand on my head to get my email entering my password every single time to get an email overview before actually getting to my messages, what was that all about, anyway? And, of course, they raised me $40 a month, almost right away, and I didn't even have ALL the premium channels in the back room, and NONE in the bedroom, and setting up a recording to repeat every day so I could see my soap opera at my convenience was just nutso, pushing buttons and praying. So, of course, no one wanted to hear my sob story. In fact, most of the customers in the funny farm lobby had equipment in their laps, too. I paid my bill, gave them back most of their equipment with a promise to bring back this strange black box with the blinky lights at my earliest convenience, and voila, all set up with my favorite provider. I think. Phone is a little strange, and where are all those additional PBS channels, anyway? I took a little vacation from fiddling with the new guide and started my third horse painting. This is what a beginning looks like. In this medium, it never gets all that fine tuned, and I like to keep a record of the process, just in case I go too far, and have to backtrack to a fresher point. Painting is the only thing that feels grounded these days. So happy to be back in the saddle, so to speak.

Horse, again.

Oh, it is soooooo wonderful to be back to creating instead of packing them away into frames. Okay, still some to be done there, but I have some time, like a month, to get it up to snuff. Meanwhile, a new opus has begun here in the little yellow house. Not unhappy with either one, actually. It really is a matter of discerning light and dark, and being judicious about measuring, so things do not wind up too long or too short or too fat, etc. And this was done on black paper, my favorite way to work in pastels, so I will be ordering a big bunch of it soon, as none of our local art supply stores carry Fabriano Tiziano in black. Didn't know I was so discerning, did you. Learned this at one of the many demos I have attended, learning what the manufacturers of art materials have up their sleeves. I put the first horse pic up on my Facebook page, because friends have complained lately that there is not any new art. Like, I can just push out a piece a day or something. Oh, wait. I did TWO today. Well, that should make everyone happy. I know it worked for me.

Doing a little regressing here...

Once upon a time, when the cowwoman was a teeny bopper, her favorite books were My Friend Flicka and Thunderhead, and they had all these amazing illustrations of the horses, and she would copy them in pencil, tongue tucked between teeth. And some of those drawings were kind of awesome, but she never showed them to anyone, so no one said, gee, you're an artist! Well, gee, now I am an artist, and I can get all excited when I get a pretty good drawing on the page, even in it embryonic stage. Wow. That's all I can say at the moment. Don't know why this has emerged so dynamic. Attention? Like, look at the negative spaces? See into the colors? Practice? It's a mystery. At this weekend's demo, of Gamblin products, really interesting stuff, actually, I sat next to an older woman (older than I, and that's hella-old), who complained her drawing skills were less than stellar. And I thought, me, too. Now I see that, with some attention, patience, and more than a little luck, I can do THIS. Lucky. Grateful.

Help! Send in the painting fairy!

Haven't picked up a pastel in many days here and now, don't seem to have much going on in the inspiration department. Little bird with great hairdo. All messy and kind of diffused and kind of a mess, if you ask me. Well, it will come back. I will just keep slapping away. After all, the paper has two sides. Do you suppose they set it up that way just for folks like me? Just happy to be back at it, after long hiatus. Maybe I'll lay an oil palette, after all.

Well, it was a good idea, I thought...

Did I mention that I sold two paintings, right off my kitchen wall? Well, one was from the series of four, and I liked the grouping, so I figured I would just diddle up another one to fit into that slot. Except. The four were all done on colored paper, and that is currently backordered from Blick, and has not come yet. Therefore, this little ditty was done on yellow paper, much lighter than the black and the red, so it is very pastel in comparison. Also, the mat has a larger opening. So, it won't do. Not at all. Well, not as one of THAT four. Now I will have to make three more of these to match this one. Gosh darn it. I will have to PAINT. Nuts. How sweet it is, really.

Well, EXCUSE me...

I was busy this morning doing 9 things at once, like, if one is worth doing, well, nine must be ever so much more productive, so, of course, Pickle flew the coup. It is always MY fault, you know. I had left the gate ajar in my haste. So I threw on some shoes and off we went, on our merry chase through the neighborhood. At one time, I got ahead of her and had her herded toward home, then she veered back and went around behind a neighbor's house, where I trapped her. Meanwhile, the neighbor woman was yelling at me to get out of her yard. Gee, if that were me, I would have said "can I help you?" in my best passive-aggressive snotty voice, so that when I found out the interloper was actually retrieving a beloved pet, I could backtrack, and even come out to help. This poor woman just snorted that she had not seen the dog, and, despite my groveling apologies, continued to glare at me. Now, I feel sorry for folks like that, who are so uptight they cannot back down once up there on their high horse. And part of me got all ashamed that I cannot control my animal, or watch after her well enough to keep her out of danger, and gee, what a screwup I am, etc. etc. etc. Then I decided that I would just be human today, and admit that I am not anywhere near perfect most of the time. And especially not when it comes to devious little Pekinese Pickles.

All I want is a wall somewhere...

...any wall that is not my own, that is. Now have 17 little paintings framed. This is a huge accomplishment, considering that the wheels fell off my life recently and I have been totally without any poop in my engine. As usual, this was an adventure for me. I used the Beverly's craft frames first, they were really simple, followed by the Village Arts frames, ditto. Then I opened the boxes from Blick, and scratched my head. These were deeper than the others, deep enough to hold a canvas, but they had a lip front and back. How does one get anything inside? And it appeared there was no glass! Hell! I had 10 of these and it looked like I couldn't use any of them! So I did what I usually do. I went to a meeting. On my way, I remembered that Blick told me that they shipped with plexiglass. Okay, so maybe that surface really wasn't shiny posterboard. And there were these flange thingies in the corners that screwed in. Maybe I was supposed to take the frame apart? You think? I came home and did just that, and lo and behold, they worked just fine. Diddled up some dandy little cards for the prices, and a couple of friends came by and I have now sold two of them! $300.00! Maybe they are underpriced? Whatever. Hope they fly off that wall, when I find it.

Tiny victories are so sweet...

Have I mentioned that there was a mouse living in my stove? Many mornings of tracing miniscule droppings revealed this to me. I tried blocking the sides of the stove so he could not get onto the counters, then realized he was coming up through the burners. Every day, I bleached the counters to within an inch of their lives. I decrumbed the toaster, even. Lately I had been wrapping plastic wrap around the heavy burner covers, hoping that the little devil would get frustrated and just move away. I had especially bad mouse karma in the house on the edge of the world. I put out Decon, and they died in the most inconvenient places, like the linen closet and my gym bag. I was doing laundry with baking soda for weeks. And I really did not want to kill the mouse, just make it go away. Well, last night Pickle got all excited about something in the corner of the bathroom under the pedestal sink. I showed her a couple of times there was nothing there. I keep a plastic basket there full of my bath accessories. Nothing in it. Well, I didn't look in the big plastic pitcher I use to rinse my hair in my bath. This morning I did. I didn't have my glasses on the first time I looked, and I thought it was dead. Further examination revealed otherwise. And it was the most adorable tiny creature! I am so glad I didn't kill it. And, now, I know how to catch mice! Just put the pitcher out with some food in the bottom, next to a place they can climb up to get in it, and voila! A pitcher full of mice! Cheap, too. So, thank you HP. Hoping for better mouse karma this time.

And another thing...

Being creative is also a leading contributing factor in being addicted, to a substance or an activity. Thinking of that writer (William Burroughs?) who shot his wife to death at a party, doing his William Tell imitation. Van Gogh, and his partner in crime, Gaugin, both died alcohol related early deaths, probably both were suicides. Depression, gee, there's another favorite of creative folks. Schuman leaps to mind. He spent his last year's in a mental institution. Schubert and Delius died of syphilis, after lives of debauchery. Tchaikovsky drank a glass of water infected with cholera. Hemingway, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, rampant alcoholics. Hell, it goes on today. Look at the mugshots of celebrities, people who have lived the American dream of wealth and fame. Nick Nolte, Mel Gibson, even little Lindsay Lohan. You can see the disappointment in their eyes. Is this all there is? Well, not by a long shot. But what is wanted, what is missing, is not a new hotel in Dubai where rooms begin at $35,000 a night. It is the substance of life, the inner journey, one that has no price tag and does not involve credit cards. Meditate, goddamnit! Help someone else! Create something! Oh, and this little ditty came out of my last figure drawing class, near the end of the semester, when I was just glad to have completed all my assignments, and didn't care all that much what happened on the page. Ink does that for me. Can't erase it, just have to let it flow. Rather surprising things happen when I go to that place, where I am totally nutso and know that I am directed by Something larger than my self. Wish I could live there more often.

Disinhibition and I...

Okay, I have been schlepping around in my friend's Facebook postings again, and came upon this article, posted by a fellow artist, about the correlation of creativity and eccentricity. Gee, you think? We are all just nutso, we artistic types. As for I, I am trying to go further out on the disinhibition limb than ever, because being inhibited makes for mundane art. I was looking at this little painting today, which lives in its cow gallery on the wall of the studio, and I could see that there is expression in his little face. Makes me want to become a vegetarian, again. I don't know how that got there. Surely, the reference photo was not so expressive. Cows just seem to look without any emotion on the world around them. But here is this animal, destined for the slaughter house before long, looking back at me with such dignity. Oh, hell, I am just a crazed person these days. Not painting, because I have sentenced myself to framing all that I can with available supplies before allowing myself the luxury of opening the new 80 piece set of pastels. Believe me, this is torture. And grief over the loss of my father has me more or less hamstrung, anyway. Doing ANYTHING is a grace beyond words these days. Giving myself strokes for making the bed, or cooking up a pot of potato leek soup. Back to my eccentricities. I believe that, if we can imagine it, it can exist. Therefore, somewhere out there is the Starship Enterprise, or Hogwarts School of Magic, or Middle Earth which is full of Hobbits and Orks. I believe that extraterrestials come to us from alternative realities, parallel universes. I believe that the fundamental element of our Universe is consciousness. Oh, wait. Some of the physicists believe that, too. And none of this matters, anyway, because, according to another of my more sanguine Facebook friends, the world will end on Dec. 21st this year as predicted by the Mayan calendar. It was nice while it lasted.

It's not easy being me.

I took this one apart three times to adjust the image under the mat, to wipe a fingerprint off that got there because I took it apart, and to wipe away a little dust mote that snuck in while I wiped. There is still a tiny spot on the mat, right in the middle under the image. Don't know whether that is worth taking it apart a fourth time. All this shows my head is in the nether regions and I should just lay low for a while till the dust settles. We are marching forward here, very slowly. The memorial service for my dad is set, I am in a dither about providing food, though that may be taken care of by friends and neighbors anyway. I seem to remember that is what everyone does when death occurs, cook and share and eat, sort of an affirmation of life going on. Not a bad thing. I seem to remember a lot of sex happens around these events, too, another life affirming act. Well, food is enough for this old gal. Meanwhile, the lily looks fine, doesn't it. I can only do one at a time, really, so why worry that there are 20 or so more frames to fuss with? It'll all be done someday, and then I must manifest a wall somewhere to hang them all. This thing about being an artist is so very interesting. As soon as I think of hanging a show, I get a lump the size of Brazil in my throat. What if I am no good? Or, worse, what if I am pedestrian, pedantic, mediocre? Nah, swallowed the lump. It is what it is. Love me or go away.

Fish in a frame...

How does on frame 90 pieces? One at a time. And I just realized that I should wait for the mats to arrive, because I only have 4 more in this custom size, and there are 35 winging their way to me, even as I speak, and a bunch more frames, too. Does this mean I can lay an oil palette and happily slap away at some of my old works, getting them all edgied up? No, probably not. I still have my lyre easel that I gifted myself with in its box. Okay, maybe I can spend this awful holiday putting that thing together, and then, I will be ready for another year of creating weinie paintings. Let us pray they will all get a lot less weinie in 2012. I think I am on the right track here. Never too sure, you know. And painting has been my release. It soothed me through the loss of my beloved Boo. Now have another loss, Lefty has left the planet. I always ask the dear departed to visit me, let me know they are safe and happy. Boo has done that. Dad, are you listening?

The year ended with another drama, for sure..

The assisted living environment called me just before midnight to tell me my father had passed away. I was the first, and then my mother. I felt really awful that I had taken my sleep medication and could not go to her, but it was what it was. I refuse to feel guilty that he passed before the old year ended, like that would make any difference, but so many challenges were thrown at me in 2011, I would hate to begin 2012 with his death. My parents are more or less strangers to me. I am not alone, my brothers agree. They were not people who could risk showing love. Mother is better, I will admit. At least now I can hug her and give her a kiss without her stiffening up like a telephone pole. Perhaps this will hit me later. For now, I laid awake for long hours in the night, groggy but alert, and am now really tired, as is my mother, who I visited this morning to see how she is. All the necessary arrangements have already been made - the mortuary is ready, the will and trust are all in place, Dad even put together the information for his obituary. He was a prominent man in his small element. Yet, there will be just a private service. Strange people, my folks. Personally, the world can come to the celebration of my life. I want my kids to dance and sing and be joyous that I was part of their lives. I would love to feel this way about my folks. Sad that I don't.