Art Garden Life

Because Chaos Theory Sounds Easy

2012-01-25T17:43:00.000-06:00

People spend their whole lives trying to decide how they should spend their lives. Am I right? Of course I am- that was just a rhetorical question. You People, of course, do not do this, because you inherently understand that your own lives are fairly perfect. No, I am describing those lost souls described by Whatshisname as "leading lives of quiet desperation"- one of which I am most definitely not. I refuse to be quiet, as you all know very well. Especially since I have decided What To Be When I Grow Up.

It's true! It occurred to me last week, and this post will be my official first day on the job. I am now a Theoretical Physicist. It's a perfect job for me, and I am absolutely qualified on account of the following:

- I have already described several theories- apparently I wrote a lot about them in 2009. (June 2, September 24, and December 31, if you're at ALL paying attention). I sent them to Stephen Hawking for his comment, but he hasn't written back yet. I heard he had been sick. I shall re-send them, because these theories are important to humanity and should be published, but I don't know the titles of the physics magazines I should send them to, and I'm betting that Stephen does.

- You don't have to do the math. It's THEORETICAL physics! Duh! Einstein used to do what he called "thought experiments" and I am crackerjack at that. Thoughts assault me on all levels- all I will have to do is round them up and see which ones hold water, which, technically, is probably Newtonian physics, but Stephen will be in charge of shaking that out.

- I once heard a joke that went like this: "Donald Trump is so dense he absorbs neutrinos", and I laughed. I know what it means. Actually, the joke was about a senator from the 80's, but just now when I tried to substitute another, more current politician's name, I did not laugh at all. I actually felt kinda nauseated. But when I put in Donald's name, things perked up, so now this joke is funny as hell.

For my first official duty as a Theoretical Physicist, I have a new theory that solves a problem that is currently plaguing lesser minds. When you People read this, you will grab your phones and jam up the switchboard at Quantum Central. What happened was, I watched a program about the problem on PBS, and then thought about it (see how it works?) that night while I was soaking in the tub.
The problem for those physicists is why, when they weigh everything in the entire Universe, the total comes up to only a small percentage of what they know actually exists. Or something like that. See, according to them (they do the math, and probably for not much over minimum wage), there should be a heck of a lot more junk around than there actually seems to be. They couldn't get over it, and this worried them. Maybe they're all Libras. Whatever. They HAD to find a solution for the material imbalance in the Universe, so they took the remainder of Stuff-We-Can't-Find and they gave it a name. They call it Dark Matter, and this seems to satisfy them. "Oh, THAT stuff??" they laugh. ""It's just some Dark Matter. We don't know what it actually IS, but that's for the theorists to figure out. We're the numbers crunchers, and all we care about is that, now, everything in the Universe balances out. Let's celebrate by not-finding something else and naming it!"
Okay. You see the problem. Just naming random stuff-that-should-be-there-but -isn't might be good enough for some, but not for me. Not this girl. No-siree. That doesn't fly around here. And so, when I was soaking in the bathtub, I was in the perfect place for the answer to occur to me:

CALORIES! Dark Matter is CALORIES!!

Don't you see? Think about it-

Have you ever eaten something that weighed 3 ounces, and then gained TWO POUNDS??!!

Yes, you have, and you know it!! There is no other answer! Dark Matter- all that extra booty in the Universe- it's calories, and when Stephen reads this, he'll slap his forehead and burn the manuscript he's probably working on, because it'll be obsolete. It's so obvious- you eat a Twinkie, and immediately, twenty-nine ounces of pure-D Dark Matter gloms onto your ass- that's why it's so hard to get rid of again! Once that stuff manifests as solid, it's a bear to re-transmute into quarks- I don't need to tell you. Chaos, schmaos. Once the subatomic particles in that Twinkie have attracted Dark Matter, it takes more than a thought experiment to shake 'em back up again, unless you have your own particle accelerator fitted with the optional Hiney Harness, and everybody knows that after-market stuff is unreliable.

I'm glad I finally got around to sharing this with you- what with my new job, and the phone calls I'll be fielding once Stephen gets around to publishing this, I don't know how much time I'll have. But be aware that I'll be thinking. Oh, yes. All the freakin' time.

Why There's Cat Hair In The Chili

2011-11-18T19:35:00.001-06:00

I was gone so long, now you can't shut me up.

"Oh, that Jan," you smile. "She's just an independent, strong, free-thinker who follows naught but her own inner guides. Those guides who were born before GPS and Zoloft. God bless her."

Yep. That's me. Nobody knows what I'm gonna do next, just like Texas, which is the gist of this post. See- I wanted to show you how right now, this week, today, I am harvesting massive quantities of serrano peppers from my lil' kitchen garden off the patio. It's like this (for thems what isn't from Texas and needs prompting) :
1. summer hit, in a massive, I'm-gonna-kill-you-all way
2. everything went dormant, or died outright
3. this went on for several months
4. (this is the good part) temps moderated, and plants woke up and thought it was spring. My neighbor, right now in November, has yucca blooming. I have bulbs coming up. And my serranos started flowering and setting little green gut busters. But-
5. it took its sweet time, thinking it had all year. When the first cold snap hit a few weeks ago, it came to, realized what was happening, and proceeded to ripen these peppers as fast as it could-

Which brings us up to date. I am hauling in red rockets as fast as I can, and thought I'd show you all...

Yay! Nice shot. Let's take another one, just to see if we can get one better....

THIS is what happens when you sit on the ground and
try to be seriously artistic.
You get a CAT, that you haven't seen all day, but
who NOW decides that you are worthy of some
Kitty Schmooze.

Yes, Gus. I see you.

I see you now that I am otherwise occupied.

I did not see you when I was sitting in a chair, watching TV.
I did not see you when I was wanting some cat patting.
I did not see you when it was time to give you your pill.

But I see you now.

Hello.

He's making me spill my peppers! That's it- maybe he's trying to save me. On account of these things are going into my tamale pie tonight.

Like A Zombie, But Less Interesting

2011-11-04T12:43:00.002-06:00

I HAVE A NEW COMPUTER!!!!

Thank you, thank you, yes.... I might be able to start publishing again. I know that you were on the edge of your tiny seats, putting off things you really should be doing, and I do appreciate that. There are, however, some caveats to this that you should be made aware of:

- I may or may not be able to add a photo ( and what would be the point of satire if you can't show a picture, after all??)

- I haven't totally learned Mac yet (see above), so if anything goes "blooey", I will make this my default excuse. As a matter of fact, if I continue to be slightly off-kilter regarding the Mac, I get more chocolate. Those are the rules, and I am not strong enough to argue.

Something almost thought-provoking has occurred during my computerlessness; something You People might use as the subject of your next novel. I shall give it to you gratis. That's what I do.
What has happened is that- while I still had email because of my adored iPad, I still was cut off from mainstream society in small ways that seemed insignificant but had an utterly isolating outcome. I could receive an email, but couldn't open a pdf. I could receive some jpegs, but not all opened. I had NO CAMERA SOFTWARE. That was the worst. I had NO PRINTER. Need a hard copy of detailed instructions for volunteer work you've agreed to?? Too bad! Need to send a signed contract to the University of Nebraska, allowing them to defrost your dog semen?? (YES, get over it.) YOU CAN'T.

Being so close to computer action, but not q-u-i-t-e able to participate fully has been completely weird. I am the first person who will sigh deeply and complain loudly about how computers have taken over our lives, and wouldn't it be wonderful to just be able to live life without one! And that's pretty much what I got for the last few months. And what happened was that I was a zombie- with the iPad, I could appear to walk around and get something to eat, but I wasn't truly doing what everybody else took for granted. And lemmee tell you how much that STINKS.

But look at me now!! BWWWWAAAAAAhhhahhhaaaahhaaaaa. There are all kinds of stupid things You People have missed on account of I couldn't get you a picture, but TODAY THAT CHANGES. See that dinosaur? She is wearing a leopard hat, and is carrying a little sparkley clutch. I have named her Rexine, and she currently lives at the studio where we sculpt on Fridays.

And see this?? This is Persephone- I have attempted a garden sculpture. She is the female version of that bald guy I did in bronze finish....

Well, see what You People have been deprived of while I've been a zombie??? It's not fair, is it??
HELL, NO. You deserve better, and I intend to give it to you. OOHHHH Yess, how I intend to give it to you. As soon as I get more chocolate.

You Knew It Before I Did

2011-07-02T11:10:00.001-05:00

You're sitting there smirking, aren't you? You KNEW I'd be back.

Me: "My darling friends," I said, "It is difficult for me to type this farewell to you because of the tears in my eyes, but I must leave you. I must say adieu. I am spending every waking hour wracking my brain, thinking of nothing else than a new way to amuse you, since your entertainment is my only desire. But it's running me nuts. Goodbye."

You: "PHHHT."

Okay. You win. But joke's on YEW, suckers- see, since that last post, my good old laptop expired, bit the dust, and coughed up blood, and I have its ashes in an urn on my mantle. No, really. Apparently one time, I wrote something about kosher mishigoss on it, and now it has to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. And all my pictures were on it. Of course, now all my pictures are on an external hard drive I purchased at the recommendation of the guru tech geek - but the point is that I do not know how to transfer them to my iPad. Turns out our buddy Gail called me from a Geek Store in a fit of intuition, and is checking it out. But. Still.

It means that you have nothing interesting to look at. You have to sit there and listen to me tell you all about the Cafe Press store I set up....
YES! It's POSSUM-FREE!!!

http://www.cafepress.com/possumfree

Give me feedback.... only the favorable kind, of course. Hou don't want to crush my spirit, do you? I thought not. So tell me how much you love it, and after that, I'll reward you by attempting to add more of the images.... from the external thingymagbob.... to the iPad doohickey...

See how hard I work for You People? Apparently, I just can't get enough :-))

And Don't Let The Door Hit Ya

2011-04-24T16:56:00.000-05:00

As you've figured out by now, I think I need to wind down Art Garden Life in favor of developing a real Jan Ayers art site. Or maybe a real Jan Ayers conspiracy theory site. Or Politics In Remission site. Or....

Whatever, it looks like I'm changing focus and direction, but will keep this going a while in case I hear about any furtive doins that you People need to be made aware of.

Like dog birthdays.

Which was, regrettably, possum-free.

Throw It Against The Wall And See What Sticks

2011-04-09T16:38:00.001-05:00

Excuse me a minute. I started to write a new blog post, but it turns out I must pet a cat instead.

Hmmm HHHMMhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... y'all can go get something to eat if you want. Catch some of the game. HHHHHHmmmmmhmhmhm.....

Okay, he's settled onto the scanner. Finally. See? This is why I don't blog more often.
Another reason is that there has been TOO MUCH going on, and I can either do stuff or write about it. Too lazy to do both.

Jerry and I cooked for the 5th and last time at the Kosher Chili Cookoff- it's terrific fun, good fundraiser, lots of praise, but we're getting older and it just about killed us both this year.

"Doctor and the Peppers". Get it?
More than one person asked us "Did you really put Dr. Pepper in here?" Fair question. Maybe next year....

NO!
NO NEXT YEAR.

Of course, the week prior to the cookoff was spent trying to get TIKVA into some kind of shape... we went from sleet to scorching heat, naturally, with no rain at all. But the dianthus in this picture- the little pink stuff- it's amazing! I had grown dianthus in East Texas, where it acted like a lovely little biennial. Bloomed, sipped tea, then politely excused itself and croaked. But this dianthus in the photo is from last year, where I plopped it into a rocky niche simply for a quick effect, and where it surprised me this year by tripling in size and rocketing into bloom. I should take a new photo and show you, but that would mean not petting the cat.
Anyway, the same week I was trying to do the garden, I was also hand-printing t-shirts from those lino blocks I made for Possum- Free Press. Remember those? Politics happened, art got involved, and the day just before the cookoff, I was hawking these things at a Dallas city park, in conjunction with an animal adoption hootenanny.

The wind was absolutely brutal, but a councilwoman bought one.

You will notice the wire poodle here.... (the French caption says "The Wire Poodle"- what else?).

And in between all that, there were art openings -not mine, but I still get to put on heels and look absolutely smashing while eating little Velveeta cubes...

Anything else? OH, yeah.... Persephone, Seattle, the Marriott, veterinarians, and rabbis. Phht. Piece o' cake.

Rites Of Spring

2011-03-26T09:36:00.000-06:00

IT'S SPRING!!!!!

Aunt Gail gave us a Spring Costume with which to demonstrate our Fabulous Tribute To The Return Of The Robin Redbreast, who apparently is too dim to understand that they must Get Out Of The Way when a Dog is Walking Down The Sidewalk.
Here is our Dance To Spring:

OOOOOPS.
You missed it.
Try again next April.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Check The Mail

2011-03-19T18:36:00.002-06:00

OOOOOoooh Lordy, People, I have some extremely troubling news.
Possum-Free Press isn't even inventoried yet, and already the backlash from possum radicals has struck at the very core of this establishment. It's a dang good thing I'm on my second glass of a very cheap but inoffensive vin blanc- otherwise I would be paralyzed with trepidation and would not be able to warn you all.
See, it's like this. Several days ago, I received an email from our own Alexis, in which she told me of rumors that FOPS (Friends Of Possums Society) and SOPS (Save Our Possums Society) were targeting Possum-Free, claiming that the organization was anti-marsupial. I shot back a smart-ass reply, thinking that she was making the whole thing up. Well, Friends- I am here to tell you that these rumors are true.

I went out to check the mail yesterday. I'd had a grinding morning, what with having to wake up and all. Then it was sculpture day- I'm turning that bald dude I showed you into a girl, for potential commercial gains. Hey! It's not the first time that kind of thing has been done- don't give me that look.
Anyway, I'd come home, ready to cook supper, my back ached, the dog was backtalking me.... and when I opened my mailbox a fat gray padded envelope fell out. "Huh!" I said to myself. "Looks like something Alexis would send. But squishier." I looked at the return address. Somebody named Lynn. From a web business in New Jersey. "Huh!" I said. "Who the hell is Lynn from New Jersey?"
I got it into the house and kinda put off opening it. "I didn't order anything." "What does this person want from me?" "What.....???" So I bit the bullet and slid the scissors into the flap, and looked inside.

THIS was in there.

Do you see it? Right next to the bamboo shoots and the Crisco?? There was a freakin' POSSUM in there. Apparently the SOPS and FOPS are spending their resources to make sure that I am possumed up. I can no longer sell these dang greeting cards as Guaranteed 100% Possum-Free! I'm going to have to add a little notice on each one now, stating that :

"This art may have been produced with machinery the contains trace amounts of Possum."

I keep finding this thing turning up everywhere:

inside Gus's diner, attempting to distract the cat. "Look!" it's saying. "Over there!" "Oh- you missed it."

inside my dresser drawer, trying on my underwear

as a Statue Toupee

But this is the most insidious part. See this tag? This was attached to it- "Do Not Throw Out This Tag."

Like- how come? Whaddya gonna do about it? I kinda want to take the tag and maybe sorta d-a-n-g-l-e it over a bridge or something. Maybe like seal it into a resin sculpture and put it into the shark tank. These FOPS are asking for it, big time. They tell me not to throw out a tag? They do NOT know who they are dealing with.

I am forming a plan.

I think this thing might be good at feng shui. See? It's sitting on the little compass (you do have a feng shui compass, right?) and Katie is divining the auspicious energy.

Turns out, possums are pretty good at Lo Pan. Who knew?

Not any dadgum FOPS, that's for sure.

So here's what I intend to do- I'm gonna market Possum Shui to everyone who wants to be sure they're ideally situated. Do you know if you are facing the correct direction RIGHT NOW??

Well, Pilgrim, you are no longer gonna hafta guess.

I'm talking millions of hard-earned dollars in the Possum Shui business, People, and you can get in on the ground floor, unless you were born in 1963 and are facing east, in which case ground floors are not so good, and should be painted red. According to this.

Possum-Free Press

2011-03-04T12:11:00.000-06:00

So, you say you need a greeting card that addresses your craving for ripped sheets? Your desire to express your inner dachsund?? You want to reach out and touch somone with a wire poodle???
You know you do.
Well, Friends, I would like to introduce you all to an upcoming product line that will revolutionize your salutory experiences. These little babies are not available to the public yet, on account of they are still in black-and-white, and need lots of Big Color, but You People are privileged to be the first viewers of the greeting cards I've been working on. They are HOT HOT HOT, and are Guaranteed to be 100% Possum-Free, or double your money back, assuming you paid for them in the first place.

I have been wanting to do this for a long time, but had no 'grab', no interesting new idea. Nothing that made me smile. If I wanted to do cards that did not make me smile, I'd do Mother's Day, or inspirational/ motivational posters. Nope. I wanted something new and different, and one night a couple of weeks ago at 3 am during a hot flash, I got this idea. Lino prints!! I knew I had pure rock-solid gold, right there. I almost got up and started working on them right then, but I laid reeeeeeeal still for an hour and went back to sleep instead.

Now, it's time for you all to preview them, though- and if I can figure out how the color will go in, I'll actually start producing them. Anybody out there got an extra version of Photoshop they're not using? And free teaching time? Better yet- does somebody want to work Photoshop for me while I stand over them, grabbing the mouse and tweaking pixels??
No?? Phht. Fat lotta help YOU are.

I have some captions in mind for most of these, but if you'd like to chime in, feel free.

So far, these have come from photos, and it's my plan to offer the owners of the beasties the original art.
But ya hafta sign a release first. Hah!! This is a first-rate operation here, and Possum-Free does things strictly by the book. That how it remains possumless.

A great shot I took of a friend's Ridgeback during a lure coursing. She wanted that plastic bunny
B-A-D.

You can't have a line of greeting cards without a wire poodle. I bet you didn't know that.

But think about it.........

Huh?? Right?? Ha! Now you know what your life is missing. What that niggling is at the back of your thoughts. Wire Poodle Distress.

Hey- Possum-Free press will have you covered, and then some.

Lost In The Wilds Of Samsara

2011-02-22T11:25:00.000-06:00

Really??!! It's REALLY been three weeks since we all got cozy with a new post? OMG- what have You People done for the last three weeks? Phht- I can hear the lamentations.
"Nothing new?" you said bleakly. "Might as well wash the car. Might as well read War And Peace. Might as well go finish that doctoral dissertation."

Well, drop that sponge, Sparky! Who needs a PhD when I have .... okay, actually I have nothing new or interesting at all. Oh, plenty has been happening! There has been massive drama on all fronts- it's just that none of it has belonged to me, and as such, I've been able to either blow it off or deal with it as I felt like. Just the way I like it. The Life Buffet. "Yes, please, I'll have a big dollop of Helping Someone Move. Hmm.... I'll take just a little taste of Massive Wedding Cock-Up. Whoops! I almost walked right past the Half Of The Executive Board Quits!! I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't get some of that. What is that? You say there's plenty of Evil Bitch Finally Got Fired At Church? Thanks anyway- I'm trying to cut down."

See? lots and lots of absolutely riveting stuff, and none of it mine. It's been heaven. Problem is, it makes for lousy blogging, so I shall instead pop you in the noggin with random photos from February:

Gus has started begging yogurt.
YES, I KNOW milk products are bad for cats.
Probably especially if they have Mixed Berry jam added to them. Guess what? We have decided not to care. Gus is almost 13, and can have what he likes.
He also eats pizza crusts.

My sister, Beverly, took a break while we were in Houston to help my other sister move to Austin to be near Lily.
Bev found out how nice an iPad is.

Carol's rescued geriatric pug, Maisie, found out how
comfy Bev with an iPad is.

It's hard to sleep with all that racket going on. Dammit.

The friend who gave me a corner of his manufacturing warehouse to use as a studio lives a few blocks away, and he and new little daughter Zea strollered by to see us! Babies make me... ookie.... they break easily..... but Zea's not a 'baby', she's a temporarily extremely short, uncoordinated engineer/ President/ ballerina/ astronaut. A very different thing entirely.

Next post- photos of Katie on the farm, or my greeting cards. Depends on what happens first....

STOP THE PRESSES

2011-02-01T12:58:00.000-06:00

AP Photo
Photography for Dallas, Texas
Dallas Morning News

Our buddy Gail and her daughter, Stephanie (Stuffer) got tagged in an AP photo last weekend that has spread into Forbes, Yahoo Sports, USA Today, Dallas Morning News, and India Times (yes, as in INDIA)
The family had won some tickets to the NFL Experience at the Convention Center in Dallas and stood in line to perform a Touchdown Dance- which has gone international!
The line to stand in to touch their red-hot cute lil asses starts right here in Plano!

More Things That Make You Go %$^&&!!

2011-01-17T19:46:00.001-06:00

Take a look at this. Take a good, hard look. This is popcorn. It's good popcorn.

But does anything strike you as odd??

Waaaiiiiiit for it.......

"Whole Grain"

I saw this and I almost went right past it on account of I was hungry and just wanted to zap it and get back to General Hospital, but my brain went "kej%#*&%^(*&%srufqp"

and I had to stop and think about this.

Whole Grain Popcorn.

Hmmm.

So.....

okay, if you take the 'whole' outta the wheat grain, you get white stuff that's in packaged bread. If you take the 'whole' outta rice, you get the white rice goo. If you take the 'whole' outta corn, you get...

HOMINY??!!

HOMINY DOES NOT POP.

Now, here's the fun part: Gail came over the next day and I showed her this, and she looked at it, then little gears and springs started sproinging out of her head, and she went a little ballistic, in a fun way, What she did was tell me that Orville has an 800 number, and you will believe me when I tell you that our buddy DIALED up that number. Orville prints it right there- he says "Questions? Call

1-800-243-0303

and a cheerful corn elf from Con Agra will speak with you directly!"

I have to admit that she was on hold for about 11 minutes, though. Apparently more people than you would think have serious popcorn questions. She had to hang up eventually, cell phone minutes being precious as they are, and that is why I regret to inform you that we might never find out exactly what Orville's Non-Whole-Grain Popcorn looks like, or where we might taste some.

*gaa-aaackk*

Mother Nature's Little Jokes

2011-01-10T13:29:00.002-06:00

This is why I spent all last week, when it was in the 60's, trying like heck to finish up my patio tiling project. You can see I haven't finished the middle bit, and I haven't grouted.

Yep- ya see, it's like this. Apparently, the air in Vanouver swirled around back to the west, and the air in Maine swirled around back to the east, which (all this is based on what a $$ weatherman told me) then lets all the air in the middle, straight from the North Pole, to zip straight down to Dallas. Like- the fridge door is standing wide open, and the Atlantic and the Bering Sea are standing around with their thumbs up their tuchases looking for a snack, while Texas is yelling as loud as it can "HEY! Y'ALL SHUT THAT DAMN DOOR!" but it hasn't done any good.
It's going to be chilly for a while, but the snow is gone from the pavement by now, and is just nicely decorating the trees.

Katie is trying to decide here how bad she really needs to go out.

Once she did go, she remembered that snow is a hoot! She's been eating it, digging through it, running like a jackalope.

This is the same dog that- and all Ridgebacks are like this- believes that mist and drizzle (forget rain!) are vehicles of extreme torment.

Poor patio- I have a rule in which I do not work over a tile saw until it's over 48 degrees. Call me sissie. Call me laceypants.

Old Story, Fresh Blooms

2011-01-08T10:48:00.002-06:00

There has been some weather here. There's always weather here, of course, but right now, we are at the tag end of a very warm spell that came at the tag end of a freezing spell, and my point is that, right now in the back garden, some narcissus have been duped into blooming. It happens. (Demeter's little PMS jokes.)
Anyway, I wanted to show the little things to you and tell you the story. They came up last week, and I was so charmed- I said to myself "OMG! Those are the little dudes that I dug up three years ago!" and I traipsed out to enjoy the fragrance, like I do when the jonquils bloom.
PEEEeee YEEOOoo!!
Not a nice smell.
Well, POODLEHINEY. I wondered what they were??

These came to my garden back when I was working downtown. I'd go off on a nice walk down to the shopping village, grab a sandwich, and walk back to the office- and one day, a chain-link fence was erected (badly) and there was some demo going on. A delapidated buidling was gone, dirt was pushed around, and a nice new condo was going to go up. But the site stayed bare for several months, during which time, I saw leaves poking through the mounds of dirt, and then these little dudes.
Well, what would YOU do?
Yeah- I tried to ignore them, but ....
I got a sack, climbed past the fence in my Manolo Blahniks (de rigeur for bulb rustlers- people take you seriously when you wear serious shoes), grabbed a stick, and started digging up as many of these as I could. Some were as much as two feet down- pushed into the building detritus. And I planted them into my own back garden, along with the beloved Campernelles and the leucojum and the lycoris.

And they just this year are blooming.
Turns out they are good old paperwhites. Not an extinct tazetta at all. Not even a delicate heritage narcissus, paused upon the brink of rediscovery by stalwart souls who risk all to preserve the past.
Nope. Paperwhites. Wearing that cheap perfume. But as long as they stay outside- OVER THERE- aren't they sweet?

And Good Riddance

2010-12-31T21:48:00.000-06:00

I keep thinking, every year at this same time, that surely, SURELY, the new year will provide a bit more comic relief than the departing one. And I am never disappointed. Last year was such a hoot I almost croaked. I still have a rash from pure giddiness.

We have a whole new decade here, People, and I sure hope the hilarity factor continues. I'd hate to get sober at this point.

My wish for all You People is for peace, health, and no nasty possum surprises.

At A Loss For A Title

2010-12-22T20:34:00.001-06:00

Finished this.

Gold In Them Thar Pears

2010-12-20T11:55:00.000-06:00

We still have some trees showing color. It's been a great year for foliage- every year is different in Dallas, and some years you just get sad, brown plops of leaves, and then, in other years, you get just the right combination of cool nights and sunny days, and the leaves go Vegas on you.

This year, the colors were in the middle of spectacular, then we got a week of 30 mph winds. The gutters were festive. After that, more leaves began to show up in technicolor, and now, finally, we're getting a smaller, second show.

Walking Katie is a suburban kaleidoscope- my neighbor has a Bradford pear (they have the best show). It's mostly bright gold, with sporadic leaves colored a deep, rusty copper red. It looks like a bunch of uvulas in a taxicab.

I always think about our friend, Mizz Alexis, this time of year, getting that famous Maine color, but the trade-off is that, right now, her leaves are piled up under snow.

Maybe that's why birds migrate. It's not the warm they're after- it's the photo ops.

My Hanukkah Interlude

2010-12-14T10:13:00.002-06:00

My sister and her geriatric rescue pug, Maisie, spent last week with us...

Now here's my observation:

If YOU go around with a mug like this, snorking and woofing and bonking into the doors (Maisie's going a bit blind)... then people assume the worst. But let a DOG do the exact same thing, and they bust a gut laughing, and cooing, and pick up the snarfling thing and hug it and love it and feed it cookies.
Now in what Universe is that fair?? I like cookies. I snarfle. I do not like to bonk into furniture, though- I suppose that that is the trade-off.

Well- at Hanukkah, all kinds of miracles happen, and they gather momentum all the way into Christmas. It's all good- especially when you have a good man, a good Ridgeback, a sister with an ancient pug. and plenty of latkes.

Free Art, And Its Consequences

2010-12-04T10:56:00.001-06:00

I really have been back to painting and sculpture since that dang Fair closed, but there's not a lot to show for it. I'm hanging out a lot with Nan Phillips at her studio, where we jont-teach art and afterwards kvetch about how artists are constantly bombarded with requests to supply something to fundraisers. Sometimes there's even a percentage paid back to the artist! Go figure!!

It's become a real topic lately. Everyone needs funds- every charity, school, and pet rescue society is getting squeezed, and all the Chairmen of the Boards unanimously go "Hey! We can sell art! We'll get our names in the paper, and show people that we're progressive, refined, and FUN!" Then they send out email blasts about how they need volunteers, and- oh, yeah- free art.

I took that bait a few years ago. Everybody does. You think "Oh- well, I already have made this Thing, and it's just sitting here collecting dust anyway... so I'll get it sold, and then my Glorious Artist Name will be out there, gathering accolades. Win-win!" The first time I did this was an poster example. A big-deal animal charity was doing their annual big-deal, big-ticket Ball, and they wanted dog dishes for a Silent Auction. Cool! I made a fused glass dog dish. It was blue, with a white bunny flying serenly through fluffy clouds. It was waaaaaaay fun, let me tell you. It was great. I said to myself "THIS is too fabulous- it's funny and practical. Sort of. Big money!!" and off it went to the Ball.
Come to find out- tickets to this Ball were 100 bucks a pop, the artists names were not included in the write-up, and nobody bothered to find out who bought what. I have no idea what that bowl sold for or who owns it. IF somebody owns it. We were, of course, not actually invited.

Fast-forward to last year. Another big-deal art sale. But hey- this time, it's all about the artists, and they're guaranteed half the sales price. Everything is 400 bucks, period, and the artists gets 200. Of course, they're free to donate back any of that amount they wish....GREAT! Okay- so nobody juried this thing, and there's an enormous amount of schmaItz and dreck here.... what had started out as an actual art event has turned into 'whatever stuff we can drag up to fill the quota of crap on the tables', but it's ok. I am not judgemental like some people. I spend all night volunteering and schmoozing- and many others do, too- and at the end of the night, nobody wanted my stone carving for 400 bucks. Well, AITCH EE ELL ELL. Whatever. I'll live.

So- then, last month, (and remember- you are bombarded daily with pleas for time/ labor/ money/ all of the above) here's a fundraiser for the Special Needs Program of a local charity that I've been v-e-r-y loosely connected with, and it's at a gallery that I wouldn't mind checking out. And all I have to do is produce a painting that's only 8" square! A no-brainer! Easy peasy. Not even much moolah involved. Okay! I'm in. Guess what?? IT HASN'T SOLD..... there's the final reception next week, and then one of you lucky people is going to inherit the thing. Hope you like Hanukkah images. And shall I tell you all the story about that Collaborage show?? That was well-received, quite respected- and was invited to go an additional month, then, after that, another gallery asked to hang it! How cool! Okay! It would only cost $15 per artist.... Huh?? Well- ok. Fifteen bucks isn't that bad, and it keeps Mother May I out of my house for another month. Maybe somebody will see it and imagine how fabulous it would look over their piano. Right? We all go take our stuff down from the first show, schlep it up to the next show, fork over 15 bucks, and wait for the reception. Then comes the email- it's a sign-up sheet for the food we're going to bring! Who wants to bring wine? Who's up for chip and dip? Cheese tray?? Nobody is signing up for 2 pounds of strawberries yet!

What!!???? Ex- CUSE me?? What was the .... well, you know what? It's all good, right? especially since I refused to bring squat. I have put some of my fused glass into the 'boutique'- a corner of the gallery that is currently being attended by us. When the show closes, I have no idea who is going to handle it. The gallery owner appears not to know who his demographic is, what items sell well, or what he would like to stock. He does, however, only take 25%. A great deal.

So, let me warn you about art. Apparently, if anybody appears to want it, run like hell.

A Simple Appeal Treated A Bit Too Casually, As Usual

2010-11-26T10:28:00.002-06:00

Hello, Dear Readers.

I am forced to come to you all to appeal for a reasonable solution to a small but irritating inconvenience which threatens to destroy my natural contentment. I am speaking of that confounded wicker box which has been called in this forum "Gus's Diner".

You may recall the pride of accomplishment when the thing was brought home and deployed for my
dining privacy. I do admit that my arthritis is no longer aggravated by having to leap onto furniture in order to have my supper, and that the resident canine is prevented from sampling my tuna, and that, on whole, Gus's Diner is accomplishing the purpose for which it was created.

That said, I am asking for one simple boon. You are aware, of course, that a proper Cat carries himself at all times with requisite dignity, and that certain postures are called for in certain occasions. And when a Cat is presented with an agreeable supper, his posture, naturally, must employ a proud, upright tail. This is only common sense. A highly carried banner of a tail signals that all is well and that a Cat has been offered something which has pleased him! This is a tradition, and one that is universally understood- you yourselves have seen the Tail Presentation and have breathed a little easier, knowing that all has been made well with the Cat.

The problem is that the dimensions of this otherwise-acceptable box are unacceptable. To be presented with a little nosh, the top of the thing is removed, and after I enter, it cannot be replaced unless my beautiful tail is stuffed. I try to ignore this; I have not yet made a scene, but I am more than slightly mortified, and I cannot predict that my good nature will prevail.

Now, I happen to know that more than one of you is handy, and that others of you are acquainted with persons who have the skills to fix this. I need a new box, and it should have plenty of room to spare, vertically, that is, and while you are at it, this new Diner should probably be of a good-quality wood. Might as well make something attractive, right? Oak is heavy and common; the Woman leaves magazines open and I have seen 'ebony'- this suits me. A bit of carving would look quite good- I suggest an image of a large Cat, perhaps. I do not wish to impose.

Thanking you all in advance for your concern and your efforts to correct injustice,
I remain, as ever,

Augustus Thistledu

And Gus Slept Through It All

2010-11-16T13:34:00.003-06:00

So I look up and go, "Whatthehelll??" It's November. It's almost past November! Where am I? What was I doing?? PPht, couldn't have been much. Painting. Cleaning house. Feeding cats. The usual. Gardening at TIKVA. OY! Yeah, that was it. I missed most of October, the fall garden season, and now I'm trying to see what's left.... believe it or not, we still have basil.

But you don't care about that. What you care about is shots of Katie, right?? Well, then, hush up, because I have some:

We spent last weekend at a lure coursing event, where she came real close to being in danger of qualifying for her JC title. Thanks God she stopped soon after this was taken and came back to the start to wait for the plastic 'bunny' there- she might have been a little tired otherwise. Close call.

"The square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle is equal to the sum of the squares of the other two sides."

Well, at the end of the day, it's nice to just relax and reflect on what the neighbors' squirrels are doing.

Happy Halloweenie!!

2010-10-31T18:53:00.000-06:00

Mizz Katieroo is modelling the witchie costume her Aunt Gail bought her last year- and now she's almost too big for the dang thing! "Extra large," sez Gail after working to get Katie's legs inserted into the armholes. "From now on-
EXTRA large."

But eventually, they will come. Oh, yes.
They MUST come.......

The Take-Down

2010-10-25T10:27:00.000-05:00

I had thought that disassembling the State Fair of Texas would have been way more dramatic than it actually was. More photo ops, ya know. I was mostly wrong.

The grackles were really confused. Where was everybody? Where were all those fried leftovers?? Poor things have to go find another mootch.

The impatiens baskets were getting leggy and overgrown, and weren't going to last much longer anyway.
I liked this particular juxtaposition. Guess I'm slowly getting back into Art Mode.

Stairway to nuthin'.

G'bye, Big Tex.

Greenhoused

2010-10-23T11:11:00.000-05:00

So, by now, the greenhouse itself might be a bit unclimactic. There were great parts to it. Those hanging baskets were suspended on an automatic watering system, and so they rotated all through the place, around and back and again... when they ran through an entire trip around, we'd have to manually restart them. People liked seeing them move- except those who had had a few too many beers.

By the way- the auto watering nozzles were set way too high pressure, and had blasted the original bouganvilla baskets to hell. These are secondary impatiens baskets. They were never able to fix the system, and so we hand-watered every morning before the place opened up. It took about an hour.

As soon as you came in, you saw this 18' waterfall in cedar wood, with a G-gauge (whatever that is) train going over a trestle, back and forth. Kids usually went nuts. Adults went just as often nuts. Everybody would stop right there in the big doorway and whip out their Iphones for a picture of themselves in front of this.

No fish in the pool, but we did encourage them to throw coins. "Have you made a wish yet, honey?" We were going to split the pot after closing, but the pool guy got to it first. A hex on his beer.

See Big Tex up there?? That dude pops up everydangwhere.

My throat is sore from having to speak above four different loudspeakers that went on all day. Farmer Mike had been given a mike (appropriate), in another corner was a zydeco CD (I still do adore zydeco music- yeehaw!), in another corner was an exhibit of new garden plants by Southhern Living, as well as their looping videotape, and in the last corner was a faux beehive and humming bees. Then people would ask "What is that plant?" and I'd say "WHAT??" and eventually they'd get the infoo. But my throat feels like I've been eating emory boards.

The Zydeco Gators. Made of painted flower pots, OMG. Did you ask "Who designed those??" DO YOU NEED TO ASK?? Dammmm straight.

A juvenile grackle came in one day and hung out with the 'gators. Her whole extended family found out that the greenhouse entrance was a fine place to be, since picnic tables had been set up and there were gorditas and frito pies and roasted corn leftovers all around. Grackles are dumpster-divers, but this one was sorely disappointed by the lack of foodage inside- I think she made it out again by that evening. We didn't see her again.

The greenhouse floor after watering impatiens baskets.

Every night after we closed at 7, there'd be a light show inside the greenhouse. The lighting dude would come in, set things in motion, and fog up the place. I had never hung around to see it- I could be halfway home before it all got going- but this last night of the Fair, we all stayed around to drink... tea. It was tea. We shared our tea and sat inside this place and watched this light show and watched the people outside watching the light show. I've been in weird places before, but this was right up there. It was a 7.5 on the Ethereal Meter. Then.... next day.... there was the TakeDown....

Randomly Fair

2010-10-21T10:02:00.000-05:00

YES, I know the fair is over and done. Too bad. Here are shots at random:

This bronze mastodon is in front of the Science & Nature Building. We did have these roaming our parts, apparently, way back when.... you can find fossils in the creek beds sometimes.
This one's nose is polished from all the people who stop to pat him.

You can take paddle boats out onto the lagoon. The only down side of that is realizing that the lagoon does not, in fact, connect to the Trinity and beyond.
Bummer.

When i was a kid, we never went to the Midway to play the games. It was not genteel enough for Mother- unsavory people with missing teeth and tattoos were reported to be there, and after working there, I can say that she was correct.

So I never played Beer Bottle Ring Toss or shot a dart at a balloon, and I certainly never won a stuffed animal. Another bummer.

These children, however, did.

Their mothers probably taught 'em to load.

These giant bananas were everywhere- I don't know what you had to shoot to get one of these babies,but I hope people came to the Fair in really big cars.

PHHT! Hey- this is Texas! Of course they did!

The Haunted HoooOOOOooooouse.....

bwaahaaahaaaaaaa

...and upside down in the Fire Ball Whee!!! *urp*

The Animal Fair

2010-10-19T08:05:00.000-05:00

Are ya sick of the State Fair yet?? Too Bad!!
The thing really did close this Sunday, but there are still photos to share and things to show you, and I know that you want to see the barns. That was always the first place I wanted to go- you can pat the champion Gurnsey and stare for hours at the sleeping Appaloosas, even as your parents are dragging you away, into the stupid Women's Building, where all they ever had was new refrigerators and Vitamix demos. The barns were so much nicer.

One completely chilled-out Texas Longhorn. He was more animated than my sofa only because he was chewing his cud.

Ditto this guy.
Except for the 'cud' part.

Boer goats. Now, THESE guys understand how to party. They would have gone with these kids to the Midway to shoot rubber ducks and sink basketballs for prizes, except it was feeding time.

A boy and his pig.

The beauty of the Barn Dance is that all these animals just assume that this is absolutely normal. And for them, it is- they do not bat an eye at having three guys working over, around, and under them, or spraying a hose at them, or spraying some kind of Tail Fluffy Poofer at them. They all act like dowagers at a spa. Whereas, if I do something like that, Katie spins inside out wanting to read the ingredients on the bottle to make sure it's all organic.

She would like the Boer goats.

"Raise them up in the way they should go..."

See??

Well, dangit, this IS Texas.

Get used to it.

2010-10-14T21:53:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I'm getting real tired. I'm losing my voice over trying to be heard over 4 simultaneous loudspeakers- we have the Zydeco Gator band, the Southern Living videotape, the Pumpkin Carver on weekends, and the loudly droning faux bees. And, of course, the happy, screaming children, who, by 3 o'clock, are sugared up and looking for a party.
But today I went to the Butterfly House and the Texas Discovery Garden, which are the genteel person's refuge. The Butterfly House is a muggy, tropical wonderland of a thousand flitting jewels (which do not show up in the pix, so take my word for it or come see for yourself) and the Discovery Garden is full of well-placed Texas natives and old-fashioned goodies that your granny had. Completely delightful.

You go into the butterfly house via double doors- the first set isolates you from the lobby, then in a minute, the second set whooshes you inside. it helps keep the inmates from going AWOL.

The butterflies are raised here as chrysalisiisiss-

chrysaliii? Chrysali.

They hatch in these soft fabric boxes, rest, and then climb out when they get a grip. It's not a bad life.

The flora in here is all tropical and intended to keep the bugs happy and tooted up.

There are sculptures spotted all around- I liked this one of the Mad Hatter.

Outside, you get to stroll through the Texas Discovery Garden. Heck, you can do more than stroll- you can get married there.

If you've a mind to.

One of the views from the garden-

And this sculpture, called "The Gossip."

It's pretty perfect.

After losing your voice asking little children to please refrain from wrecking the greenhouse, it's a dang nice chill.

Makes me actually want to garden, dangit.

Fairly Creative

2010-10-11T10:56:00.002-05:00

Okay,I'll admit it. I'm getting tired. But there's still a lot to do and see... I ran all the way around the Cotton Bowl so I could get you some shots from the Creative Arts Building. Where people with jelly and their grandma's table made of corn cobs can go to show 'em off.

Need a new skillet??

YOU KNOW THAT YOU DO.

Prize quilts.
We have a friend who does beautiful quilts, and has won prizes at International shows, but I didn't see her name here.

The Best In Show needlepoint.

It is an entire hootenanny unto itself, and won fair and square.

The annual butter sculpture. Every year, it's a different theme.
YES it really is made of butter. Why they get someone from New Freakin York to do it, I cannot say, although it perhaps because New Yorkers can work in the 45-degree temps it takes to keep the butter.

This is what prize peppers look like.

Properly preserved pristinely pickled prize peppers.

And I took this shot for the Spamophiles amongst us. You know who you are.

Fairly Creative

2010-10-11T10:49:00.000-05:00

Need a new skillet??

YOU KNOW THAT YOU DO.

Prize quilts.
We have a friend who does beautiful quilts, and has won prizes at International shows, but I didn't see her name here.

The Best In Show needlepoint.

It is an entire hootenanny unto itself, and won fair and square.

This is what prize peppers look like.

Properly preserved pristinely pickled prize peppers.

And I took this shot for the Spamophiles amongst us. You know who you are.

Good Automotives

2010-10-07T22:24:00.000-05:00

One of the best exhibits, really, is the cars. All of them. In numerous buildings. That you can sit in and adjust the seats in and pretend you're going to tour in. You can sit in next year's Cadillac and adjust the steering wheel and rear view mirror and check your lipstick and then go "Nah. It ain't me" and then you go to the next one and do it all over again. All day, if you want to.

The rear end of the next Lexus you'll see.

I liked the people reflected in this grille. I also liked the grille.

This is a pool table made out of an old Mustang. It's either very, VERY cool, or it's an abomination, depending on what the old Mustang had to go through to get this way.

You can get your picture taken with a Dodge Viper for free, as long as you don't touch the Viper.

Thursday is Senior Citizen's Day at the State Fair.

And, as always, somebody else cleans up when you're finally gone. No trace of corny dog mustard here, Bubba.

The State Fair- A Deco Wonderfest

2010-10-04T13:53:00.001-05:00

Y'all need to experience the restored grandiosity that is known here as Fair Park. Imagine being on the crews that re-painted and re-sculpted all this! It took a few years- and frankly, I'm surprised that 21st- century prudes did not raise a noticeable stink over the restoration of the 1920's Art Deco bodies.... as you will see...

Aaaah, Deco. Glorification of the Human Spirit and all that. This dude never ate a pork chop on a stick in his life.

Some kind of goddesses or Tributes To Something.
I should read the plaques, but that might provide me with
actual facts, which get in the way of my own stories about
these wonders. Notice the leeetle bitty people.

Really. I should really read up on these figures.

Some fabulous winged broad seems to be escorting this hero someplace.

To Valhalla??

I guess, since I've been familiar with these paintings and bas reliefs and statues my whole life without understanding what they represent,

that to find out NOW might be somehow a let-down.

Maybe that's it.

The restored painting are everywhere-

and all of the celebrate the victory of the human spirit through perseverance and danged hard labor. VERY Trotsky- Lenin. All of this emerged during that era, and I swear, if the proletariat really looked like this dude with the sledgehammer, I'm not surprised that everybody wanted to be Communist.

THIS thing is the best, my favorite, the most wonderful thing inside the gates of Fair Park. It presides over the the livestock barns- it has the tail of a turkey, the body of a swine, the head of a sheep, the wings of a bird, the mane of a horse, and the horns of a longhorn. It is called 'The Woofus'.

The original Woofus disappeared a few decades ago, during those Dark Fair Ages of decline, and know one knows what happened to it, but artists reconstructed him from plans and old photos, and now he's reinstalled in his rightful place of honor. And I admit to having some small-child part of me truly comforted by the fact that other people love Woofus, too- enough to make sure he was one of the first things to be brought back.

And of course there's Big Tex- the icon near the entrance to the Fair and the Cotton Bowl-- but he's for another post.

State Fair- The Ongoing Saga

2010-09-30T22:02:00.000-05:00

I just today heard about the best job in the world. I probably should have capitalized that. But- going through the greenhouse, there's this nice little woman, and she's got some kind of ribbon pinned to her blouse- and so I say "What is your ribbon for?" and she smiles r-e-a-l big and replies in Nice Little Woman English "I was the Pie Judge." And I said "Oh My Gawd. So who won?" and she replied, all happy and nice "Well- the Grand Winner was in the Key Lime Division, but I (and she emphasized the 'I') got to judge the chocolate pies!"

And I fainted dead away.

Okay, not really. But- think of it. You're the Chocolate Pie Judge at the biggest, finest state fair in history. Is that like.... what?.... better than a dream come true. On account of it never occurred to me to dream something that wonderful. I- I-.... I just cannot come up with anything more life-fulfilling than that, and I dare yo to even try.

On that note, let me show all of you some random food shots from the fair-
and yes, we make wines in Texas,
but the chardonnays are a bit...
well, not French.

This last one is right outside the greenhouse. All day I get to look at the folks eating poke (pronounce it the correct way- you're in Dallas now) POKE CHOP on a STICK.

Notice that the Beer Line starts right freaking HERE.

A Fair State

2010-09-28T11:40:00.000-05:00

WOoooOOOOHOOOOOO dadgummit, whatta hoot.

Please excuse me- since doing three 10-hours days at the State Fair of Texas last week, my Texas accent has emerged. It's practically an appendage in its own right.

The best part is that people who come through think I know what I'm doing. That's such a hoot.

I already described the fair, right? As in: it started in the 30's as an exposition, the buildings and statues were NOT designed to last long, and in the 60's and 70's, it had fallen into such disrepair that it was almost lost? That after decades of blowing trash, cheesy rides, hawking midway barkers, and dank buildings filled with questionable technological offerings, someone, somewhere in the late 80's said "Hey! This pace could be COOL!" and proceeded to begin cleaning up the grounds and restoring the buildings and Art Deco monumentation. The result now is that we have cheesy rides, hawking midway barkers, and questionable technological offerings in a truly wonderful atmosphere. I'm serious- I LOVE this place. The Fair only lasts for 3 weeks, so you don't get immune to the colors and smells and music. The weather has already made a turn for the better- the days are sunny and pleasant, the kids are allowed just be kids, and so are the adults. It's just stupid fun, just for a little while, and I'm working the brand-new greenhouse.

I had thought that my entire job would be to keep little kids from destroying the place, but ya know what? They're not that bad. Last Saturday, I played Bad Cop with a few future criminals who had rocks in their paws, but I'm amazed that they mostly just want to run like rabid squirrels around the place, trying to follow the five model trains that loop around and through the displays.
They built this greenhouse to be a permanent structure, and after October 17, the Fair closes for another year, and it will become a working greenhouse for the tropicals that dot the fairgrounds. But the best part is that they built this thing right at the end of the Midway, right across from the merry-go-round and the reptile house (Note: Those who have a Thing about those Magical Creatures inside said Reptile Houses should know that there's a picture coming up). We're also across the walkway from Ring The Beer Bottle, the Haunted House, and Pork Chops On A Stick.
I LOVE THIS JOB!!!!

Stay tuned- for the next 3 weeks, I'm just posting pictures and having a blast.
I've already eaten the obligatory Fletcher's Corny Dog. Actually, I've eaten two. I wait all year for those things.

I have not wished to spend my hard-earned cash on the Fried Twinkie, the Fried Oreo, the Fried Caesar Salad, or the Fried Gator, but the heady atmosphere may work its magic on me yet. It's still early.

My feet would not hurt so bad if I'd sit down for the hour lunch break, but that's my chance to look at the Fair. I've found the sculpture gardens where I know some of the people who are displaying work. My boss also was responsible for the creation of most of the re-vamped gardens that are devoted to Texas natives, and those gardens lead up to the re-vamped butterfly gardens, where a thousand floating stained glass windows flit past your head.

Starting to Look Interesting

2010-09-23T09:16:00.000-05:00

People, I have to tell you that ArtGardenLife is manifesting actual art, gardens, and Life in the form of "Hmm. Go figure."

Lots going on, and all sort of at once. Like I was telling Jerry the other day (Jerry loves it when I wax exponentially profound on him at six in the morning. That's when poetry happens. If you wait till you've had your coffee, your head clears and your eyes focus and that lovely fog goes away)- anyway, I was describing to Jerry the other day what my version of 'manifestation' looks like. See, here's my theory, and I happen to know that I'm correct- and now that I think of it, I probably should email Stephen Hawking again and let him know this.

Anyway, my theory about manifestation is that, say, you have energy particles zooming around and colliding, right? (Stephen says "Right", so just accept it.) And these energy bits- nuons and gluons and photons and rightons are all whinging around the universe, and eventually some of them are attracted to each other and stick, and then more come to the party, and others hang out for a while trying to decide if they like the music, and so on, until what you eventually get is a cosmic dust bunny manifesting as a mayonnaise jar or a reproduction Louis XVI sofa, or an English Setter. Refer to my physical representation of this phenomenon that you all know as "Accidental Cosmos", which, by the way, ironically met with an accident and no longer exists as such, but is planned to reemerge as another sculpture that'll be even better.

Now the reason you need to know all this is because that's what is happening right now, right here. Manifestation. We already did the Art part with that Collaborage thing, and it went really well- 'Mother May I' got Honorable Mention and a $50 certificate to the ceramic store, where that'll get me enough clay to manifest a flower pot big enough to plant myself in. Also, art-wise, I've been teaching a 15-year-old dude to draw, and yesterday he did something really well and out-of-the-comfort-zone for him (it's called 'shading') and I was really proud of him. He was, too. That was good.

Also- DO NOT LAUGH- I am today starting up again at the State Fair. YES I KNOW all that about previously dying, but this is better. I'm going to be in the brand-new greenhouse they built on the Midway, answering questions and preventing children from scaling the rubber trees. And it's air-conditioned, they say. So for the next three weeks, I am going to be employed! Maybe I can buy tires for the truck. Anyway, that's the 'garden' part. I'm planning to ask what they intend to do with the plant material after the Fair closes.... hey. Don't hurt to ask, right??

As for the 'Life' part- well, that's what I've been talking about! But it doesn't hurt to be buddies with a past prez of an art society who also builds their web page. Nan Phillips (google her- she's the one who did 'Fractured Fairy') sent around a form for Texas Sculpture Association members to fill out, and she's added it to my page. I have to say- HEY. It kinda makes me look good. Cool.
http://www.txsculpture.com/members_web_pages/ayers_jan.html
And that's Life.

Per Your Request

2010-09-20T13:43:00.000-05:00

It appears I misspelled 'Nimi'.

Phht- all those A's in English have gone for bupkus.

But she is moldelling her Burberry collar and leash for you- and, by the way, it turns out that cinnamon-colored dogs look SMASHING in this. I only say that with you Ridgeback people in mind. Not that you're a BAD OWNER if you do not rush out today and purchase this ensemble for your own under-dressed hounds- Oh No! Just, well, you know.... it'll be okay if you don't. No, really. It'll be fine. Don't think another thing about it. Your dogs look fine as they are. Really.

Katie's Adopted Cousin

2010-09-17T07:50:00.000-05:00

Can you see this? Do not adjust your screen- there's nothing wrong with your eyes- it's just that this is an IPhone picture of a cinnamon bagel...
OOPS! My mistake. It's a photo of a mini dachshund Formerly Known As Cinnamon who is the SIZE of a bagel.

She's a coupe of years old, and three weeks out of the Humane Society and Doxie Rescue. She came horribly underweight (Hey! How much would it cost to FEED her, anyway?? Sheesh!), but around her new family, she's looking great and showing that she's been nicely trained, by someone, sometime.

At first her new mom's friends and family didn't really want to love her. Her new mom works full time, and goes to school, and is raising an active, bright kid, and frankly, there were so many reasons for her NOT to get a dog that we were all stone-faced and hard-hearted about it- till we met her.
She's called 'Nimmi' now, since calling out 'Cinnamon!!' took too long, and Nimmi has pretty much captured everybody who has carried her around in one hand. She and Penny made friends, and last week, I took Katie to add to the mix.... with thoughts of "OMG! Katie loves other dogs, but ONE PAW will take little Nimmi right out of commission!" As usual, I overreacted- not only did Katie try to tone herself down for Nimmi, but Nimmi also knew when to duck under a coffee table when kids and big, young dogs were playing chase through the house.

So there's a new face in the crew- a leeetle, tiny, brown face- and thanks to our buddy Gail, she already has a better wardrobe than I do. But it's really hard NOT to buy a Burberry ensemble when it's only 5 inches long.

An Uncertain Conspiracy

2010-09-13T13:45:00.000-05:00

Something has been troubling me for weeks now, and I was never able to put my finger on it until yesterday. Remember the Whiskered Flowerpecker Threat, in which birds who were neither whiskered, pecking flowers, or even American came to light for the first time right here on ArtGardenLife?? That's right, this forum and yours truly, with help from my Roving Reporters, flushed out that particular nightmare before it could get its avian plot hatched (so to speak).

Well, friends, I have reason to believe that there is a new, even more dangerous threat on our horizon, and this one is more insidious because it is being perpetrated by the Insect World, which, as you know, is way more difficult to photograph. Ha! And the bugs are counting on that fact to discourage me from discovering their plans.

Here's the facts: About last year, our friend Ms. Alexis sent me a photo she took of a lil' bitty pink worm on her coneflower. This cute little squiggle was exactly (EXACTLY!) the same color as the flower, which was the topic of her report. "Look at this!" she had written. "This worm is pink!", and I had replied, "Well, forevermore! Isn't it cute! I wish I had pink worms that matched MY flowers!"

And there it stayed. Or so I had thought.

Fast-forward to last week. I was out in the patio, sipping coffee, and looking at all the bees on the garlic chives (oh, yes, they're still there), and I noticed something. A pink moth. On the alliums. A leeelte bitty teeny moth, about the size that could have come from Alexis' little worm. "Oh!" I thought to myself. "I must write to Ms. Alexis and tell her I have a pink moth! Isn't that a fun coincidence?"
THE PLOT BEGINS TO REVEAL ITSELF.

Well, by the time I had sat down to check email, here was a note from Ms. A. "The news is reporting that there's a Cone Of Uncertainty just off the coast." Cone Of Uncertainty?? It's a computer- modeled geometric area that represents the statistical unpredictability of the progress of last week's impending hurricane activity off the eastern seaboard. OR SO THEY CLAIM. I started thinking about that. 'Cone of Uncertainty'. That would put Ms. Alexis right next door to something the size of the Bermuda Triangle. HA! See that? Bermuda TRIANGLE. CONE of Uncertainty. That's when the horrible truth began to dawn on me. That moth- that pink moth I had just seen....
IT WAS TRIANGULAR!
Everything was starting to fall into place. I have just had an invasion of small, PYRAMIDAL brown moths in my laundry room. They had come from some old birdseed and I have been mooshing them- dozens of them- for two weeks. (Fortunately, they are butt-stupid and easy to hammer.)

It is imperative to bring my point home by showing you this photograph that I took as my suspicions began to grow and formalize. I went outside to take a picture of the pink moth on the alliums....
AND IT WASN'T THERE.
Coincidence?? I think NOT!
Also, the butterfly that was on the blossom NEVER CAME INTO FOCUS.

More and more things are falling into place now- things that, two weeks ago, had been random, interest-provoking observations, but are now pieces of an Arthropod Conspiracy. Remember the eighteeen Mirabellas and Steves?? All those swallowtail larvae that I rushed out and purchased parsley for because they had consumed my entire supply??
Oh, yes! NOW it makes sense!!

And I say "Arthropod" because I am, as of today, convinced that this thing goes waaay beyond simple moths and butterflies. This thing, whatever the Thing is, has grown to include Dirt Daubers.
Oh, yes!! I laughed, too, but no more. I include this image of a dirt dauber nest ( yes, most people say 'mud dauber', because, technically, you cannot daub dirt- it falls into a dry pile on the ground, but I grew up saying 'dirt dauber', and I like the alliteration)-

anyway, I took this photo of a dirt dauber's MUD nest that sits right outside my back patio door as we speak. Now, notice-
1. it is RIGHT OVER my door!, and

2. it is really badly done. I mean- this thing is a joke. I know dirt daubers, and they are brilliant architects. This pile of junk should be condemned. It's lopsided, bloopy, and an insult to the precision daubing that the MUDD (Masters Union of Dirt Daubers) dues-paying guild holds as standard. It's not up to code.

My point is that, obviously, one of two things is happening; to wit:
1. this dauber is NOT REALLY a dauber but is a yellow jacket in a dirt dauber suit, OR
2. is a dauber that has no interest in building a home for her children, but is only interested in gaining access to me and my home. Either way, she's gonna be history.

While I sort out this conspiracy, something else comes to mind. Something very troubling. This might extend even beyond the arthropododae. I do not yet know, but.... remember the gecko that ate the moth?? YES! That gecko.... is he helping to win our cause by knocking off troublemakers?? Or....
was he getting rid of a stool pigeon?? Did he know that this moth was gonna spill his guts, and the gecko put him on ice before he squealed??
It behooves us all to keep vigilant, People. We're living in Code Pink times.

The Last Collaborage Post, Really

2010-09-07T13:56:00.000-05:00

Stephen Potter sent us a slightly better shot of those glass bars we did for his 'Genome' at the Collaborage show, and you People really need to see it. Because I say so. Because they truly are too fabulous.

Imagine these things to be three feet high, and about 2" wide.
We all want to do more of them-
well, what I mean is that we want about a hundred of these bars to exist. Actually making them- maybe not so much. Do you know how many little fiddly bits of 2" x 1" glass we had to cut, wipe with Windex, and stack into a steel channel form in order to get ONE finished bar??

Well, I don't know, either, but lemmee tell you, it was more than twelve.
Took three women more than a week to do four of these monsters.

But..... MAN, they're so excellent! Will a hundred more be enough??

Strike Up The Band

2010-09-03T15:00:00.000-05:00

You know another thing that's great about the fact that it's September? It's that I was up early this morning and Katie and I got out for a walk just before school started, and as we got just to the end of our block, THERE IT WAS.
Boom boom chinga rattatat BOOM BOOM clang!

The high school marching band is back! I listened for something that would tell me what the theme song would be this year. What composition they'd strike up to whip the team and the fans into a frenzy this year. But all I heard was horns- it was some kind of ballad. It was the Alma Mater.
I couldn't hear the tune: just the bass parts. But as Katie investigated fire hydrants and suspicious bits of paper on the ground, I thought about kids these days having alma maters. I didn't take for granted that those things were still done. And I found myself filling in what I couldn't hear with what I knew by heart, after almost 40 years.

   We sing to thee, our Alma Mater, and your colors briiiight
   Your name and fame we will remember as our guiding liiiiiight.

I remember Gail and me in the bleachers at a Friday afternoon pep rally, singing. And I hear that kids don't know now what a pep rally is. Is that true? Do these high schoolers, practicing now, still do pep rallies? Admittedly, even when Gail and I sat in those bleachers in our 1970's miniskirts and frosted lipstick, we made fun of them then. We knew it was lame. But it got us out of 6th period. And we made a pact then: there was a competition for the class who could scream out its year's slogan the loudest. We assured each other that, as old ladies, we would attend a pep rally and make sure we'd both yell it out.
"You bet your ass we're better than YOU! The Senior Class of SEVENTY-TWO!"
Actually, that was the alternate version that only the braver kids yelled. And once in a while, I'd yell it, and then blush, and cut my eyes to see if anyone had noticed.
Now, I'm probably an old lady, but I don't know if there are pep rallies anymore. And they'd likely call the cops if we showed up anyway. Assuming we made it through security.

   Houston High School, you we honor,
   Houston High School, you we praise.

Sam Houston High was the second high school in Arlington, and in our junior year, it moved into a brand-new, state-of-the-art, technowhizbang building. It was unheard-of. You could GET A COKE out of the vending machines in the halls! And- get this- YOU COULD TAKE IT INTO CLASS. Unbelievable! And- YOU COULD WEAR JEANS. It was too good to be true. We couldn't believe our great good fortune to be... well, so massively cool. Arlington High School, down the road, was old and had the Bad Kids. We, on the other hand, had a large, open courtyard in the middle of which was a grassed hill. That you could SIT ON. Unbelievable. We were on top of the world, and we exuded cool. We invented cool.

   We raise our voices to your glory, ever faithful, ever true.

Since we didn't have many Bad Kids, we didn't actually ever win many games. And I believe they still do not- that most of the kids now are in rehab, anyway. Sam is now in the... not-best.. part of town, and as I drive through Arlington occasionally, I'm surprised and a little worried that I don't remember how to get there. How did that happen? Gail and I used to go to rehearsals for that year's musical- we'd take her old beater through the Southern Maid Doughnut drive-through (she'd get chocolate eclairs and a Dr. Pepper, I'd get vanilla-creme-filled and a Coke) and then we'd buzz up to the high school by 7:00 in the morning. Did that for 3 years, every time choir and drama had anything in the works. How could I forget even where it is? Where I got in trouble once in the parking lot when my dad's El Camino wouldn't start, so everybody piled into John Rainone's Chevy and went to his apartment (he had an apartment!) and my father and stepmother about popped a gasket when they found out? "But it was a BUNCH of us!" They didn't care, and I was amazed at their obliviousness. Up to that point, they hadn't seemed to care much about a lot more interesting stuff.

   And when our days with you have ended, we will always be
   True sons and daughters of Sam Houston! We'll remember thee.

I sang that as I walked Katie this morning, and I wondered if kids still went to pep rallies. I hear they don't. But it looks they they still have alma maters, and they still try out for band, and that band gets up and nukes Pop Tarts or drives through MacDonald's and gets to rehearsals by 7:00 in the morning. That's also when I see that year's new crop of skinny kids, smothered by helmets and pads, trying to do push-ups in time to a coach's whistled command. I don't know if these kids are going to win games this year (I secretly believe I could take most of them in a fair fight), and I don't know if they'll remember where their high school even was 40 years from today, but I do know this: they sincerely do believe that they are cool. And that I'm oblivious. They know without a doubt that they are going to improve the world, and that, if I can manage to stay out of the way, that everything will get better. And they might be right. I was right, then. And Gail and me- we did make it better. We made is POSSIBLE to be better. Right there on that grass hill.

   Remeeeeembeeeerrrrrr theeeeeeeeeee.

And neither one of us has stopped yet, trying to make it possible to be better. We have, however, discovered that that's the best you can do. Make it possible. Get out of the way, and just let 'better' be possible.
The distillation of forty years. I'm okay with that.

I'M GOING TO LIVE!

2010-09-01T17:26:00.000-05:00

It's an EMBER!
The calendar says 'ember'!!
As in September!!

I'm alive!!
It's under 100 degrees outside!
And it's going to RAIN!!
I'm so happy I could plotz.

Frat Lizards

2010-08-24T11:34:00.000-05:00

This is not a double image.
Can you even take a double image with a digital camera? probably not. But if I ever read my camera manual, I'd know.
No, I took this photo at night, and there's my kitchen reflected in the window. And there are two geckos on the window screen, taking advantage of the bugs that the lighted windows attracts.
I watched these guys while I did the dishes, and after I took their portrait, I noticed that one of them had nabbed a moth that was bigger than his own head. He'd gotten the first part of this moth down his gullet, and was working the rest of it in stages- it was a little horrifying and thrilling at the same time, like a freak show. I couldn't take my eyes off it. This little dude- he's about the size of my pinkie finger, and that's with the tail- was working this moth like he had a bar bet. You could see his little rib cage- he was starting to hyperventilate- his little heart was beating, you just new that little tiny beads of sweat were breaking out on his forehead. It was exactly like a frat boy who chugs that fifth pitcher of beer.
This little idiot worked it- glomph!- and the body finally went down.... breathe huff huff huff WHEW...glomph!... BREATHE huff huff huff... and after several minutes, the wings disappeared. This stupid gecko almost committed suicide. But he got the whole dang thing down, and then he sat there on the screen, REAL STILL... you could hear him insisting "I'm good! I'm good! Just gimmee a minute..." His little rib cage was still pumping- you know he really wanted to double over, but he'd have lost his grip on the screen.
End of the story- he lived. He's grown a bit, too. And last night, he showed up with only a stub of a tail. I do not want to speculate what happened, but I'm hoping for his sake that Rush Week is over soon so that we can both relax.

Collaboraged and Out

2010-08-17T10:57:00.000-05:00

We're done!! Mostly. I mean, enough to take pictures for the exhibit curator. And 'Mother May I' is really, actually done!
Jeez whatta trip.
Oh- what is that you say? You want what? You'll have to speak up, Dear. You want...
to SEE? The PICTURES??
Well- if you insist. Anything for you, Darlings. Can't have you howling all night.

'Mother May I'
Jan Ayers

'Journey From Fargo'
Nancy Uline

'Genome'
Stephen Potter

'Fractured Fairy Tale'
Nan Phillips

Now you have to understand we're still tweaking on Fairy. She's getting a tuck here, a loop-ti-doo there...
but not a terribly bad way to repurpose 'Under Your Head' from last year. Right?
I said "RIGHT??!!"

Damm straight.

Anyway- the show gets installed later this month, and the reception is September 9th. Woof.
NOW what? I guess..... maybe I should get these people to help me do this other thing I've had inside my head... it involves a single petal from a brilliant pink crepe myrtle tree, but 8 feet tall, in resin.
Freud and Jung had no idea what monsters actually arise from the id.

Getting A Head

2010-08-10T16:11:00.000-05:00

This morning's session at Nan's was successful- we decided to work on Nancy's mummy. It's our job to do its head.
She created the thing by encasing her husband in plaster, then covering the carcass in old road maps.... YES, her husband had been freed before all that happened.

Anyway. Piece o' cake.

And So It Continues

2010-08-06T17:31:00.000-05:00

This is Day # Whatever of the Great Rampageous Artist Sculpture Collaboration and Corn Chip Marathon.
But- Hey! "Mother May I" is finished! We poured resin, and it wasn't enough, and I had to buy more, and that was enough. We say so.
Also, now we are beginning to assemble Nan's deconstructed fairy. You may or may not be appalled to hear that we're pirating January's "Over your Head" bits to make this thing-but we've spent all the money we have already, and the bits do look like fairy guts.
No, really- this thing is cool. The wings are somewhere else, so they're not on yet, but we're wiring up the rest-
well, don't take my word for it. Just look at it!

Wiring this thing up is a....

an interesting challenge that makes us smile and smile.

And here are some IPhone images of the resin pour:

Two hundred bucks later...

Collaboration As A Verb

2010-08-04T14:06:00.000-05:00

This 4-artist hoedown called "Collaborage" is either winding down or cranking up depending on your viewpoint, and how far along your sculpture is. The original deadline was July 30th, but since you're an artist, that means you actually got STARTED on it on July 30th. So the deadline is August 8th. Or the 14th. Either one.

The one sculpture the four of us are working on today is Stephen Potter's 6-foot-tall metal piece. Nan and Nancy and I have made 3' long glass bars that will -hopefully- fit into it and look smashing. Maybe 'smashing' is not the word to use when you're describing the impact glass will have, but you know what I mean.

Here are some images we took with Nancy's IPhone.

We're after a DNA sorta concept, because Stephen's piece evokes a primal response to the creation/ manifestation phenomenon, and also because I think that it will make us look really smart. I mean- who doesn't respond to DNA in art? I'll tell you- somebody who has no clue what's good.

Anyway- these glass bars are too cool and they weigh a freakin' ton, so they're guaranteed to get us some praise, hopefully from rich people, who know lots about art.

After this, we pour resin onto "Mother May I", we wrap Nancy's mummy, and we assemble a deconstructed fairy. This is going to be the best show E-V-E-R.

Surprise Art

2010-07-30T09:58:00.000-05:00

Remember last year when Gail and I took her grandson, Nathan, to the art museum, and over lunch in the artsy cafe, he described the painting that I should do?
"There should be, like MOUNTAINS, and like- PEOPLE, but you can't really see 'em because they're like dark? And there needs to be like a FLOWER?? 'Cause Gran likes FLOWERS?? And like, the people should be like kinda far away, but like in FRONT of the MOUNTAINS???"
Remember that??
I've been thinking real hard about it, and I finally finished the painting.
Gail doesn't know I've been working on it- I wanted it done for their anniversary in May, and it wasn't.... and I wanted it done for her birthday a few weeks ago, but it wasn't....
So today it's finished and mostly dry. I'm on my way to her house right now with it. The plan is to get Nathan to sign it, too- if he approves, that is. I know I nailed the MOUNTAINS, but we'll see if I got the PEOPLE right.
Chagall would'a liked 'em, but Chagall ain't signing this.

The Garden I'd Have

2010-07-27T09:34:00.000-05:00

This image is tiny but I believe you can see enough to be transported like I was to a Nicer Place, where eagles raise their babies, where wild irises grow, and where ocean breezes waft playfully through your long, flowing tresses.

Yes, I am talking about Maine, where our friend Alexis has this garden.

Can you see it?

I don't know why it came in so small, but trust me, there are coneflowers and daisies and .... stuff.....

she tells me that on the porch, there are pots of Oriental lilies, and that the nigella has begun to bloom.

As a reply, I tell her that my own garden is moving along as usual- that the several days of overcast skies means that the impatiens is no longer crispy. And so we bask.

Raising Somebody Else's Kids

2010-07-23T17:51:00.001-05:00

GGAAAAA!!
Do y'all remember that scene in "Them" where the guy opens the door and is met with this gigundo bug??
Here's what's happening at my house for the last three days:

I wander outside (yes, I know all about how I hate outside right now, but don't interrupt me or this will take forever)
I wander onto the patio and look at my little pot of parsley. I notice that someone's been nibbling at it. "Oh!" I think innocently. "Maybe the swallowtails are back."

Okay- right here is where y'all need a bit of backstory. See- for the past 4 or 5 years, I've grown parsley (it's too dammm hot for dill, go figure- it goes crisp in my garden)... anyway, so I've grown parsley. And for 3 or 4 years, black swallowtail butterflies have visited me because parsley is a plant that its caterpillar children like to eat. Dill is another, but (see above). You got your tiger swallowtail, which is drop-dead fabulous, like a lepidopteristic Cher, and you got your black swallowtail, which is refined and genteel, like Audrey Hepburn. The little black dress of butterflies. Good enough for me, if Cher won't come to my party.
So for 3 or 4 years in a row, I have had swallowtail children munching parsley. Generally two at a time. They are named Bert and Ernie. They eat, get big, and go away to college. Then, in a month, here are the second set of Bert and Ernie. Sometimes I'd have maybe 3 or 4 sets, then it's fall, and I can start using my parsley again without fear of cooking up a surprise. You know?

Okay- so this year, all May, all June, most of July- I got swallowtail bupkus. I'm actually bummed out- l feel like I've been dumped by a bug. Great! Who needs 'em? I'm better off without 'em! Screw 'em!!
Then I walked outside, like I said.
My parsley is little stumps. I've got some in that planter, and some in the ground by the new fence. I think, "Well, heavens to Betsy. They made it after all." Then I start looking.
I counted 18 caterpillars in the two clumps. I started sweating bullets. They already had eaten most of what I had, and were just getting started. What do you do? When a trusting little butterfly's child is going to starve, what DO you do?? I'll tell you.
You already know where this is going, don't you?
That's right. You get in the car, you drive to the grocery store, and you spend $12 on parsley. THEN- oh, no, it doesn't end there- THEN you place the parsley just so, where they can find it easily, since you're really not sure how smart they really are.

The good thing about these critters is that they grow up and leave home fairly quickly. By next week, the biggest of them will be off pupating at some buggy frat house, and they will leave me alone. I cannot name them all Bert and Ernie this year- that is too silly. So the ones in the garden plot are 'Mirabella', and I am calling the planter 'pillars 'Steve'. That seems to suit them just fine.
I'm planting lots more this year in case this happens again- lord knows a lady does not like to be caught without makeup, proper-fitting undergarments, or enough to feed a bug. This will not happen again.
As God is mah witness, Ah shall nevah serve tabouleh again!

Summer Ode

2010-07-21T13:49:00.001-05:00

I'll admit it, People- I'm depressed as hell and I can't fake it anymore.

It's too hot to accomplish squat, and staying indoors means that thoughts like "I should do housework" enter my brain, and then all hell breaks loose, therapy-wise. That is, if I could afford therapy, I mean.

Here's the deal: every August, I dig a nice, cool, dark hole under the porch and I freakin' stay there until the calendar says "...ember", as in "September". "November". If the calendar has "...ber" on it, I poke my little head out, look around, and decide that I am going to live after all. Things always get waaaay better in an "...ember". The weather breaks its choke hold on my psyche, and I feel like breathing in and out again.

The problem is that, for the last few years, the August rule has been creeping upwards into July, and by jingos, this year, the impetus to hole up started in June. I'm hot and I've had it.

This interpretive dance will explain exactly what's wrong. You will notice the heat waves radiating from the ground. This illustrates the literal problem, although that's not the only one. It is the one that provokes all the rest, though. Notice that I am reaching for the sky in a supplicative position, symbolizing

how I cannot afford Prozac and must stay in my hole under the porch..

The toes are pointed outward, showing how my unemployment benefits are exhausted, and the well-shaped ass points skyward while the bosom floops sadly, demonstrating how meteorological extremes act exactly like a manic-depressive practical joker.

The black leotard, of course, celebrates Life.

If I lived in Finland, of course, I could get all the mood-altering prescriptions I could fit into my drndl, but then we would not have had this conversation, although at the same time I would not have initiated it, since I'd be cool, and would be eating a yakburger right now and Lord knows that have better manners than to talk with my mouth full, usually. But Finlandians do not enjoy the benefits that I have: the ability to go barefoot in March, to grow tomatoes in November, and to live in a state that can't afford textbooks. But we do not need them, as the Guv knows darn well. We have all the science there is already- in summer, your brains fry,and in winter we buy sparklie stuff and throw it on the roof. Easy! Oh- and there's "don't stick your hand under a rock or a board until you've kicked it over first". That there is the one they ask you if you want extra credit, and you'd be surprised how many Yankees get that one wrong.

I'll keep posting to ArtGardenLife all summer, People- don't worry about me taking some time off. Oh, no. Heck, there are plenty of things to muse poetic about that do not involve heat or weather at all. Like- my dental surgery! Those of you who have not yet changed your phone numbers can count on a call from me to assure you that I won't be needing to borrow your yurt until my Hydrocodone runs out and I need to just run over to Finland for a while. I can gum my yak and maybe think about putting shoes on- Hey! I feel better already!

Penny, The Weathercairn

2010-07-12T11:36:00.005-05:00

Gail has been updating me weekly these days on our Favorite Cairn. You see, it's been raining around here for ... how long?.... more than a couple of weeks now. And I am not complaining about that. Oh, no! Never mind that mold and fungus are hovering somewhere around 9 ,000,000 on the Air Quality Chart and that mosquitoes outnumber Benadryl supplies: the fact that it's overcast and stormy means that I don't check in all the often at TIKVA, which frees me up to do my own projects. Like filing Katie's toenails and catching up on missed episodes of HGTV Design Star.
The downside of all this meteorological hoopla is the heebie jeebies it gives our little Penny. The upside is that Gail has perfected the Cairn Alert System as it pertains to storm forecasts, and she's seriously considering putting Penny under contract to NOAA's weather service as an improvement over Doppler.

See, what happens is this: when a storm is even considering brewing up, Penny's terrier sensibilities know about it even before the clouds threaten. Her ears go flat and sad, and she picks up her squeaky ball and moves to Gail's large kitchen pantry. The whole family then knows that Something's Up, atmosphere-wise.
If the storm begins to work itself up, Penny moves farther and farther back into the pantry, and if she makes it all the way to the back, you better know that the thunder is cracking right over your head and YOU might enjoy moving into the pantry, too. The Cairn Alert System was thus categorized:

Doorway Level:
Possible Storm Horizon

In this aspect, the Cairn alerts the family to impending meteorological hijinks. Ears are in the Verifiable Early-warning Really Yucky Storm and Death (V.E.R.Y. S.A.D.) position.

At this point, it's only drizzling and storm activity has not actually arrived, giving the family plenty of time to stash batteries, water, and several days' worth of dog treats in a safe place. Which, of course, does not exist.

Spice Rack Level:
Storm Is Forming And We're All Going To Die

In this aspect, the Cairn's whiskers are bending towards the approaching weather front like a dowser's rod, telling her to take cover and try to convince you to do the same. At Spice Rack, the Cairn can stay safe, yet still maintain some communication with the outside world, which seems to be refusing to sufficiently duck.

Plasticware Level:
Storm Is Right Over Your Head Don't You Hear That?

The Cairn, realizing she cannot persuade her family to run for their lives, retreats to Plasticware, deeper inside the safety of the pantry. She knows that if she saves herself, she can at least bark for help when the rescuers come looking for survivors.

Holiday Dishes And Cleaning Supplies Level:
I Told You So

At Holiday Dishes, the stalwart Cairn is at her most appreciated. This level is the farthest into the pantry's interior, and is the utmost in protection, where our brave weather warrior can ride out the worst that the heavens offer. This is the level at which her family provides her a Danger Bed, and also is where her family begins to realize that perhaps she was right all along. If the Cairn reaches Holiday Dishes, one may rest assured that all hell is breaking loose outside; thunder and lightening are rattling Aunt Maudie's urn on the mantel, rain is hammering at the doors, your new flat of periwinkles is floating down the street and gurgling into the storm drains, and you're starting to think that maybe you'd like a bed inside the pantry as well. But it's too late for that. You didn't listen to your little terrier, did you?

As a happy ending to all this mayhem, one observes that as the storm begins to abate (IF it does), then the Level Warnings reverse themselves. That is to say that, once electrical ions level off, Holiday Dishes are abandoned for the Plasticware, whereupon one understands that it's now only raining outside, with an occasional rumble. After that, Spice Rack is achieved, and one knows that it's now safe to run outside to upright the birdbath, which has crashed over onto the prize peonies. And when the Cairn abandons Spice Rack for Doorway, the sun is just a few moments from bursting through the clouds. All danger has passed, your Cairn has saved the day, and the humidity is about to slap you right in the face. Congratulations!

By the way, all rights to the Cairn Alert System are reserved and may not be reproduced by any other breed. As though they'd even try.

Contacts From The Other Side

2010-07-03T10:19:00.001-05:00

By the way, I want y'all to look at this photo.
YES I know it's underexposed, but that's the point here. This picture was taken in my big beautiful master bathroom that I re-did a couple years ago- remember? The new tile, the new shower?
Well, as soon as I finished this bathroom re-do, I started noticing this.
Look. This is a completely dark room. But there's a soft, ethereal glow emanating from Toilet Alley, up close to the ceiling. See it??
I have a Ghost Toilet.
A disembodied spirit likes my redecorating, and hovers near my loo, looking for a copy of the New York Times? My w.c. is destined to be the center of a revived Victorian seance society? OOOOO maybe it's Elvis!!!!

Actually, I did figure out how this apparition managed to appear periodically, but I don't feel like telling you. My job here is to entertain my Followers, and that is what I shall do- besides, one of you might be a travel agent, and we might be able to make some hay here. Think about it- "Madame Jujube's Mystical Seance Toilet B & B". We'll offer six days/ seven nights, with free tarot cards on Wednesdays. I will interpret your dreams while you're here, and you WILL have them. Oh, yes.

We're going to make a pile of dough with this, People- all I need from you is a little PR, and we'll have tourists flocking to Toilet Alley to get their fortunes read. The only down side I can to this is that those pilgrims will have to study up on The Meanings Of Swirlies on their own....
Madame Jujube only goes so far.

Grand Opening of Gus's Diner

2010-06-30T11:23:00.001-05:00

This is a sad, sad tale, my Friends, but one with a happy ending.

Go get a Kleenex.

It goes like this: Gus used to be able to mosey up to a pretty little fish-shaped crystal supper dish anytime he liked. It was on the floor, and was easy and convenient for everyone. And he nibbled contentedly upon Mister Britches Organic Pussy Mush, with Real Salmon Bits, and he would purr and purr.
Then we got a puppy.
And Gus's dining pleasure turned into a creative fiasco of "How do we keep the dog out of the cat food?" For a whole year, Gus ate off the top of the refrigerator, which did not make him unhappy, but as time went on, his rheumatizz would kick in, and he became less able to leap to the top of the thing. So we moved his dishes- oh, the sweet little crystal fishy bowl was already a distant memory- to the top of the breakfast table. The large puppy of course learned how to eat all the food when we left the house, if we were careless enough to forget to move the dishes to a higher spot. We'd come home to a kiss from Katie that tasted a little like dog feet, Nylabone, Cheez Whiz, and aquarium gravel. The pretty marble table became smeared with tuna juice and salmon moosh (Gus likes seafood) and I hid my face anytime anyone came over.
OOOHH yes, you were all nice and pleasant about it, but I know what you were really thinking.

"For Chrisssaakes," you thought, "this woman can shoe a horse and use a chain saw- are you telling us she's helpless when it involves cat food??!!"

Well, People, I am glad to tell you that as of last weekend, I took the initiative and focussed my entire problem-solving skill set on this thing.I wanted my freakin' breakfast table back. I had to figure out:
1. How to get the cat food down on a level that would provide easy access for an occasionally arthritic kitty
2. How to keep a 70-pound dog out of said cat food, on account of I cannot afford to feed Katie four times a day
3. and most important- How to make said solution Look Nice. I am a Girl, and I want Nice Things. Period.

So this is what I came up with. Target had this storage ottoman on 30% clearance, so I brought it home and Jerry cut a kitty-sized hole in the end of it. I needed his surgical skill- this thing is twig-quality wicker, and it took wire cutters and a strong grip (my Hero)- and after less finagling than I had imagined, Gus's All-Night Diner and Grocery Stop was up and running. We let him check it out first. Then we put it on the floor and put some chicken liver inside on a tray, and there ya go.

It's not perfect- I'd love it if it came with a butler who would remove and replace the top every time he fed the cat for me, but it's as close to perfect as forty bucks will get you.
I bleached the holy living sh%&% out of the pretty marble table top, and now it's in the state it was meant to be in- covered with junk mail instead of cat slobber.
I am empowered. I have a nicer home, a prettier table, and a dog who greets me with the correct breath- although she does seem to be losing weight....

In A Fair State

2010-06-21T21:36:00.000-05:00

I have not been forthcoming with You People lately. I now am ready to admit it-
I had a job last week, but I quit already.

Here's what shook out: I had met a woman who is in charge of all the planting and landscaping for the State Fair of Texas- and if the words 'Big Tex' mean nothing to you, then you might not grasp the magnitude of that endeavor. Fact is that Fair Park was constructed as a temporary exhibition plaza in the 30's, lasted longer than planned, fell into disrepair in the 70's and 80's, but since has enjoyed a rebirth and ongoing refurbishment as a National Historic Thingy. It's got primo examples of Deco painting, sculpture, and architecture, and in the six weeks of the actual fair, it's got what everyone craves the other 46.... Fletcher's Corny Dogs. The best.

So I met this woman, who is bringing real landscaping to the premises with Texas natives and all the new planting toys. She's got eight-foot-tall towers planted solid with petunias and lantana and plumbago, she has columns of bougainvillea, she has a couple of youngish types keeping it all watered, weeded, and planted. And she sucked me in as well.
"But," I whined,"It'll be..... like.... 110 degrees out there??"
"It'll be FUN!" she replies. "You'll be able to take lots of breaks!"
So there I went.

And yes, it was fun as hell. Literally. I will skip the part where I never got a key to the gate and scooted into work through a hole in the bottom of the fence. I will not mention the wasps who enjoy a nice, cool, watered planter, and I know you have no interest in hearing about the fact that all the landscaping is currently sitting in pots on five acres of concrete paving and that at the end of the day, my truck thermometer told me that the temperature of that paving was 104.
See this picture of pavement? In September, this thing is going to be the Midway, with lots of happy, laughing, sticky-handed children playing games of chance in order to win large stuffed animals, but currently, it is a 7-minute schlep out to check the hanging baskets. See the hanging baskets? In the middle of all that Texas concrete?? That's just one of about 5 planting areas that you're responsible for if you work for M'am It'llBeFun. I couldn't take it and quit after a week, like I said. Call me Weenie. Call me Princess. The fact is that you are able to call me since I am not dead. I consider this to be a plus, since there was no insurance attached to this job, and my death would have been a big financial disappointment for lots of family.

I did make 87 dollars, though. Not enough for a funeral, but plenty for a tub of M & M's and a flat of petunias.
The self-respect is gratis.

Back Up And Try Again

2010-06-15T09:20:00.000-05:00

Well, it looks like I have screwed the pooch- and I have never used that phrase before, it being non-authorized by the Committee For Enforcing Genteel Remarks.
See- I thought it was pretty obvious in that last post that I had been the one who was over-reactive and cranky, but after it showed up, I had friends calling me and emailing, offering to go kick some gardening butt on my behalf. No!! No!! See??- I was all jealous and show-offy?? See that?? I DESERVED garlic chives as my punishment?? I totally earned Beelzebub poking me in the ass with alliums?? (And by the way- turns out our beloved Mizz Alexis was not- repeat 'NOT' the culprit in this fiasco. Them thar seeds she sent me were benign, polite little doodads, and I gotta make sure you all understand that so as not to invoke my Posse Vengeance. Lord knows we do not want that. Not today.)

OH POOH.... well, the fact is that now I know that I have trowel-wielding badasses at my back, ready to make fertilizer outta anybody who makes me unhappy- and that in itself is fairly awesome to think about. The problem is that y'all are trigger-happy, so I have to be vigilant in the future about when I frown.
Cool.

A Bone To Pick With Garlic Chives

2010-06-08T12:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I have some time right now to follow up on some major complaining I need to do. I have some real problems here, and I do not hear anyone sympathizing. This must change.

Let me bring you garlic-chive bleeding hearts up to date here. It was- what?- two years ago? three?, and I'm sitting at a board meeting. A TIKVA garden board meeting. And Tres Fromme is there. OH! Tres Fromme! Google him. He's a garden designer at an international firm here in Dallas, and happens to be a co-worker of the Board Prez, and had agreed to get involved with TIKVA. To put the polish on, so to speak. And so Tres Freakin Fromme sits at our board meeting and compliments Sonia on her wonderful garden taste, because Sonia wants a Rosa mutabilis hedge. HEY! What am I, chopped liver?? I'd like one of those, too! And Tres and Sonia are just gushing over each other, and when I say, "How about abelia?", I'm shot down. Ditto on the spireas. OH! EXCUSE ME! Never mind that they're bulletproof in Texas weather! Tres Fromme says No Abelias. Or Spireas. Or Vitex. But Sonia says Desert Willow, and he pops with enthusiasm.

Ok, ok, I know when I'm not winning. I can do the Cinderella bit. Lord knows I'm best at just accepting when I'm beaten. Never mind that I'm the one who knew how to draw up a formal planting plan, since I've been paid to do it at big expensive consulting firms. That's okay! No matter that I'm the Head Dirt Babe. I get it. Sonia is funnier than I am, nicer than I am, and has a sparkling wit that she delivers in a Queen's voice. So- and this is when the real trouble started- when Sonia said "garlic chives", and Tres absolutely wriggles with pleasure like a puppy getting a tummy rub. "OH!", he screams. "I LOVE GARLIC CHIVES!"
And so I decided that By God, I'm going to have garlic chives. If the man who goes to Dubai to design solid-gold water sprinklers likes garlic chives, then nothing is going to stop me having them.

And Satan laughed.

Let's skip forward a bit. I do not remember how I acquired garlic chives. Ms. Alexis, I remember, send me a packet of Allium Something seeds from her mother's garden, which I sprinkled about with abandon. But Sonia- YES, that Sonia- said that she also had gifted me at some point. Bless her. The point is that, a few years ago, something began growing in my kitchen garden. It was not a narcissus. It was not a liriope or a lycoris. When I crushed it, it stank good, like an Italian waiter, so I knew it was an allium. But- normal chives that I know have a purple fluffball, and this bloomed with a flat white umbrella. It looked wonderful! Wouldn't it be nice to gather seeds and throw them around everywhere?? Wouldn't that look too fabulous?

And Satan fell out of his chair and rolled on the floor, wiping his eyes and farting.

Fast forward to NOW. Guess what? I have garlic chives- oh, I googled them all right. I have them coming up in the rosemary, in the thyme, in the lemon balm, and in the camellia pot. I have them crowding out the rescued heritage jonquils, smothering the tradescantia, and scenting the roses. Every time I manage to weed some (you can't just pull them: they break off underground), in a week I see tiny green whiskers again.
What I had forgotten is that right here in Dallas, wild onions grow everywhere- in asphalt, in hard summer-baked clay- and I have planted a monster. A human cannot eat enough garlic chives to make even a small dent in my supply, and cows don't want them. (Imagine the milk....) Anyway, at this point I have been through 4 of the Five Stages Of Allium Regret, which are Covet, Thrill, Nurture, Oops, and Dammit. I am currently inside Dammit and do not see the way out yet.

What I know I have to do is to dig up my entire back garden, keep any bulbs, and throw out the chives- providing I can tell the difference. The only way to do it might be to smell each item I extract. (Sorry, honey- I didn't make dinner tonight. Not hungry. NO I do not want an onion bagel.) That garden was looking decrepit anyway, and needed a thorough rework. Okay. It has occurred to me to take all the rejects and plant them at TIKVA- HAAAAAAaaahhahhaaaaaa- but then I sober up and realize that I'd eventually be digging them up again, but by the quarter-acre. No, thanks. Alliums are what I get for being haughty and prideful. I brought them on myself. They do smell a little like albatross. My cross to bear. I shall emerge from the garlic jungle a better person. My sinuses shall be clearer. I will confess to Sonia during Yom Kippur that I was jealous of her superior skills and sense, and I will call up Tres and buy him a garlic chive frappacino. And if you can send me a recipe for these things-
GIVE IT TO SOMEONE ELSE.

When Artists Collide

2010-06-03T09:45:00.001-05:00

This is what I've been working on. A collaboration. Not my idea, either.... it's a project headed up by a local curator I know, and it's brought Texas Sculpture Association members together to work on projects as a team.
It's good and bad- bad being that I want this whole damn thing to be done already, but getting four artists in the same room on the same day ain't that easy.
But it's surprising how much we've all gained from this collaboration. Who knew?? We are all thinking in ways that would not have happened otherwise. left on our own, we think "This", and now, with the energy and ideas that spark into life when we all get together, we think "THIS!"
We've all grown artistically, and perhaps in other ways as well.

It certainly doesn't hurt that they share my excitement about razor wire as a medium. To see the whole thing, go to Facebook and take a look at Collaborage Tsa.

The Thermometer Gospel

2010-05-24T11:02:00.000-05:00

Yeah didst thy friend Gail, residing in that Land Of Deer Valley, go to her husband and say "Verily doest I desire that I should have a wall thermometer upon my patio wall.", whereupon her husband didst bade her to make it happen. Gave her the go-ahead he did, and Gail them didst taketh the new wall thermometer in her hands, saying "This thermometer doeth please me greatly. Look handsome it does upon my bricks, gently guide me it does with its large numerals." And she was happy.

Later it was that Gail didst desire to display the thermometer upon her wall, and searched she did for the sacred masonry drill bit, but she was sorely tried. Called out she did to her friends who knew the secrets of power tools, but she was turned away. "Lo, they said,"we have no sacred masonry drill bits. Goeth ye into the Land of Lowes, and there ye shall find what ye seek."

And so there it was that Gail didst sojourn; and many false bits did she look at, until the Prophet of the Land of Lowes didst display before her the Sacred Drill Bit, conveniently packaged with one hundred and fifty other assorted sundries that she was pressed to buy. "Lo," sayeth the Prophet, "these one hundred and fifty all go together, and are deemed by the Great Packager to be handy." And so she took the package, and was happy.

Travelled then she back to the Land of Deer Valley, and opened the package, and took she the sacred drill bit, and cried mighty tears of angst. Gail went to her husband, and cried, "Looketh thee upon this! This is a false bit, it fitteth not into my holy drill driver." Sorrowful was he, but he replied, "I cannot taketh the false bit, for I am called to unkink the sacred garden hose, which is gone all kerwhacky within its hose reel." Loud were her laments, and she cried unto God, saying, "WHY doest thou not wish me to have a thermometer? WHY doest thou not wish my patio to look like the ones in Elle Decor?" But He heard her not.

Called once more she did unto her friends, who howled their laments into her ear. "We do not know if our holy drill drivers fitteth into the false bit", they cried. "We will come unto thee and try, but thou shall have to wait until Thursday." Then didst Gail taketh up the false drill bit again, and travelled back she did into the Land of Lowes, and cast she did the false drill bit into the Returns Bin. "WHY," she wailed, "WHY doesth God maketh me to drive all over His Kingdom from Hades verily unto Breakfast? WHY does He not wisheth me to have a patio thermometer?"

Thence it was that Gail returned unto her home, and it was there that her husband lauded her, and gave unto her great tidings: that he himself had ventured unto the neighbor's house, and there it was that he had borrowed a sacred masonry drill bit, and Lo it was good. And it was there that Gail didst make unto her patio brick a hole, wherewithin she placed a Molly. And when the Molly was placed, she inserted a screw, and was happy. But the screw hangeth not the thermometer, and Gail tried mightily for at least an hour to properly place it according to its directions, but it hangeth not. Then Gail tried again with a different screw, and Lo the thermometer prevailed, and its numerals shone in the light, and it was good.

And Gail heard from the heavens a mighty Voice, and it commanded to her, "HOW is it that you have hung a patio thermometer?" And Gail replied, "It was the Man. The Man gaveth unto me the sacred masonry drill bit, and I hung the thermometer." And God replied "You may keep the thermometer that I have damned, for it only cost twenty bucks, but you shall both be cast from the perfection of this garden that surrounds your patio. I shall smite the Man's garden hose reel, and never more shall it unroll like it's supposed to, but instead it shall be cursed. Your hoses shall kink and become mightily tangled, and it will no longer roll nicely across the yard, but instead will tend to fall over and take out the daisies."

And Lo, it has been so.

Lessons In Growing Up

2010-05-19T16:01:00.001-05:00

Hello!! I'm baaaAAaaaack!! Where the hell was I? Where did I leave off? What were we talking about??
I have no clue.
In the past week, I have:

- lost enough weight to fit into a tiny little black dress (Oh, Hush!! It's my turn!)
-run through O'Hare Airport trying to make a rerouted connection
-had a flight into White Plains cancelled and rerouted to La Guardia
-driven over the Triborough Bridge at New York rush hour ( No problem- it gave me a chance to really look at the Bronx. I think it was the Bronx.)
-driven past large hairy men preparing for the 100-year anniversary party for the volunteer firefighters of Chappaqua, New York (No, I did not see Bill or Hill snarfing a hot dog at the Town Hall.)
-met Jerry's first ex-wife (whereupon we began discussing crystals and progesterone, while pouring ourselves some really nice Cabernet.)
-played with a Portugese Water Spaniel, and
-visited Greenwich, Connecticut with said ex-wife, her husband, and daughter Bon, who tried on a $100-dollar French t-shirt in a boutique there and proclaimed that it made her look frumpy. And it did.

I suppose I should start with Samantha (above right). I took this photo about a year and a half ago, when she and her family came through Texas to visit for a couple of days. This picture demonstrates how to arrange peacock feathers in one's hair for dramatic effect. Sam is Jerry's granddaughter, and her bat mitzvah was the reason we went to New York at all. Yes, the party was great, Yes, she did her Hebrew flawlessly (but not after almost worrying a wrinkle into that porcelain brow). What I loved about the whole trip was watching Sam and her friends. Sam is tall and dark and as graceful as a 12-year-old can be, Jenn is tiny and pale and hilarious, and together they were so mature and so slapstick. They tried on heels and lip gloss, they spoke in tight whispers while walking across the lawn, then they burst like firecrackers into uncontrollable giggles. "Look!" Sam insisted, and held up a Facebook page. The adults had no idea what was so funny, but the girls were practically turning purple with laughter. Sam received a gift of cash from Jerry, and she said later she'd stashed it in the safest place she had: it was behind the plastic dish with the plastic palm tree that housed her hermit crab. "Nobody likes to go near my hermit crab," she'd said.

Sam's father got transferred to London this year, and she has been heroically studying Hebrew ahead of schedule so that the family can move without that worry. She will have to leave Jenn behind, and the hermit crab, and most things that matter to her. London will be a wonderful advantage for her in the long run- my own nieces did it at that age and came away with a world view that most people cannot have. But there was a small cost, and Sam is facing it with grace.

Twelve. Thirteen. I remember giggling like that. It was about boys, or someone's rude noise, or a possible nickname for a math teacher. Seriousness, for my friend and me, was reserved for the gravest matters. Horses. What color horse? Palomino, usually. But I loved grays, too. It was hard being twelve. It probably still is.

Mazel Tovs and mitzvahs

2010-05-15T10:52:00.000-05:00

Sorry to be gone so long, and for the fact there are no entertaining photos of the wild times. I'm in Westchester County, an hour north of Yankee Stadium (I took a picture on my cell phone, but like a wraith, it is enveloped on fog and mystery)- and yesterday Jerry's stunningly gorgeous granddaughter read her Haftorah and received her bat mitzvah. Not a dry eye in the house.
We're on our way home tomorrow- early- and if you beg me, i might regale you with our adventures at Chicago's O'Hare Airport, but not until everybody is properly nogged and tucked into bed.
Later, people- Jerry's first ex-wife and I are off to Greenwich. Ta!!

Dancing With Bears

2010-05-02T08:54:00.000-05:00

Art is like this:

-drowning in a vat of banana pudding (you're life is slipping away but you really love banana pudding, so it's not all bad)

-dancing in the woods with partying bears. You know that if you try to lead, or step on their toes, they'll eat you.

This is one of the canvases I've been working on. I think it's finished. You need to tell me that, though. See- I am bothered by the possibility that it might be too cute.
Gail has seen this shot and went all "ooOOooo" and Jerry looks at it every night because it's in front of his chair, and he assures me that it's not at ALL 'cute', and says there's all kinds of eerie symbolism that goes way past what I'd imagined myself, which of course pleases me. This painting is taken from a photograph I took in front of Notre Dame cathedral in Paris- it was a very drizzly morning, and there was a dang bird market right there. Right in front of the stupid cathedral. Cages on tables; the whole deal. Canaries, doves, and these guys- they're either doves or pigeons. And, being this was France, I figured they were meant for the stew pot. I was a little freaked out- what being I was kinda hungry anyway.

So I had started this canvas a few years ago, and had put it aside.... and lately I tried to get it finished for a donation to a fund-raiser (Oh, I'll have to tell you all about THAT)....
but between then and now, my art has changed, and this image may or may not be necessary anymore. There's an interesting phenomenon that happens, and it seems as though I am getting kicked in the pants to finish up some old, bygone stuff before I can move on and do some cool new stuff that's inside my head. It's exactly like all these potentially cool images are trapped inside my head's elevator, listening to that music, and they have to wait until the old creaky ideas have manifested before they can get out. Believe me, it's pretty annoying.

Actually, I took this shot of a detail of this painting, and I like this image almost better than the painting. This could be a greeting card. A really EEEEERIE greeting card, for which I believe there is a market. You could get this in the mail, and you'd think "Whoooboy, that's kinda unsettling", and then you'd open it up, and it could say something like "Thinking of YOU".

I'm liking that. I had been wanting to do greeting cards, and today I think I know my niche. It's probably too late to get the Mother's Day line out. Too bad.

Keylarker Press. I smell money.

April At My Own Garden

2010-04-23T09:08:00.000-05:00

Katie with Clematis and Iris

pseudacorus

Lamarque

the white rose that originally was supposed

to climb up the dead tree... now it's going

to need its own carport cover

April is the finest month there is on Delmar Drive.

These pictures make my garden look WAAY bigger and more sumptuous than it really is, but I will just have to put up with that.

Angel Face Blue-Eyed Grass
rhedrose loves this one because, she says, a favorite Texas native from my childhood
it smells like Lemon Pledge

   Madame Whooziwhazzits
an old variety that Ms. Alexis has chased down for
me, but whom I keep forgetting. This personality flaw
of mine does not make me happy, and I intend to fix it eventually.                                                                                            French Lace with
                                                                 Madame Whooziwhazzits
                                                                                                        the fragrance of French Lace makes
                                                                                                        me absolutely swoon.

This garden has been allowed to rampage off on its own agenda for over a year, since all my energy has been going into Tikva, but I vow that that is going to change. I have garlic chives taking over the entire property, but that's another, and rampageous, post. Me and garlic chives are having a ... discussion... about boundaries, and soon.

Finally!! My Muse!

2010-04-21T08:18:00.000-05:00

So I get up extra-early this morning. Katie and I woke up, felt like we wanted some coffee and a bisquit, and were flipping between Mike & Mike and Design Remix. Checking email. You know- the usual. Then I clicked on a message from Ms. Alexis....and MY LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.

http://velveteria.com/

Everything I have been striving for has come into focus, and you think I am kidding but I assure you- I was born to paint unicorns on black velvet, and I am not ashamed to say it. Time to admit it.

It's Her Birthday And She'll Bark If She Wants To

2010-04-20T08:39:00.000-05:00

Katie is two years old today! I'm gonna give her some liver....
wait- she gets that anyway.
Well, this morning I covered her over and tucked her blankie around her...
wait- I do that anyway.
Maybe after I go put some glass in the kiln I'll go buy her a bully stick! Wait-
she gets one anyway..
My dog isn't spoiled- they all smell that way.

In The Forests Of The Night

2010-04-16T13:53:00.000-05:00

OMG Look! Look!!

Okay- you know that our rhedrose designs jewelry, right? I have to tell you about this piece she just did for me. Is it TOO DROP-DEAD FIERCE?? Do you just adore this??

I am going to drive you through the process for getting your own wished-for accessory, because although it's pretty easy, it's still not actually simple. So pay attention.

Rhed is a poet, a mystic, and an intuitive, but she is also perfectly well grounded in what is do-able in the real world. What that means to you is that she's happy to work with your desires, but cannot be bamboozled. So, what happened in this case is that I had seen a necklace she'd put together, and I had liked it- it was these chunks of black tourmaline spaced just so.... and afterwards I just kept thinking about how SAVAGE this thing would make me....picture those cougar boots, black skinny jeans, white blouse open 1 button more than is polite... and THIS thing....
I couldn't resist going for the whole look. So here's how it goes:

Me: "OMG I NEEEEEED that necklace!"
Rhed: "How long do you want it?"
(Notice she zings you right away with complicated real-world directives? She wouldn't make a move without me getting out a measuring tape.)
Me (nine days later): "19 1/2 inches."
See- it was imperative that this thing peek out Just So from under that blouse... as I explained to rhedrose.
Me: "I want those chunks to like be spaced pretty far apart, like maybe here and here, like with spaghetti, maybe a bloop of something here.... but the whole point of the piece is those geometric bits... like it's really important that the whole thing is all about chunk-osity, you know?"

That's why I say that our rhed is a mystic. She not only understood all that, but she made this thing. An early version was almost-but-not-quite, and she's perfectly happy to discuss what you'd like tweaked. She GETS it. She also will not allow a piece to go into the world unless it takes on its own soul, at which point it gets named. And it's the only one that will ever be.
'In The Forests Of The Night', rhed says, might have been influenced by Gus the Cat, but I insist that it's all mine. Me. MY chunkolas. This thing is heavy, darkly gleaming, and sexy as hell. It might wear ME. And that's okay..... it'll make strong men fall at my fabulous couger feet, weeping. And isn't that really what a girl wants?

Coming To An Understanding

2010-04-12T21:35:00.000-05:00

I was in the rock store the other day. It's a fine place: you're eyeball-deep in beads and geodes and carved jade doodads and books about fossil-hunting. There are also woo-woo books about rocks, and I have a couple. These books are all about.... umm.... rock vibes. Now, I'm open-minded, you remember, and I like to imagine that I have all the Cosmic Potentiality Bases covered, so I absorb all the rocky woo-wooness and commit it to memory. Can't hurt.
So anyway, like I was saying, I was in the rock store looking for something, I forget what, and I found a small sphere of a pleasant red stone that's tagged as being 'poppy jasper', and it was dead cheap, and I liked it, so I bought the thing.

That night, I was soaking in the tub and drinking a nice little (also cheap) Trochenberenauslese (don't bother to look it up to see if I spelled it right; I assure you that I most certainly did) and I was reading my woowoo book to see what it said about poppy jasper, and here's the entry:
"...helps one to understand animals and be more in tune with them. Creates more compatibility with one's pets."
Well, &%$# THAT.

Here's my point- I ALREADY understand my pets. Are you kidding me?? Look at your dog/ cat right now- you know exactly what they're thinking, don't you? And it involves a.) food, b.) bellyrubbing, c.) naps, or d.) food. Am I RIGHT?
I understand dogs to the point where I know what a dog clock would look like. A dog clock would say:

-breakfast
-high alert
-half-nap with modified alert
-dedicated nap
-squeaky toy reconnaisance
-dinner, and
-squirrel-thirty

That's how well I understand dogs. I do not freakin' need a chunk of poppy freakin' jasper to allow me to understand dogs. Or cats, for that matter. Cats would not bother to make clocks at all. Cats exist in:

-what do I not currently have access to?, and
-what did I just get myself into?

That's cats.
What I have decided I need is a rock that allows my freakin' PETS to understand ME a little bit, that's what I need. Give me a rock that, when in proximity to this dog, will get through to her that:

- she must immediately cease jabbing me in the groin with her cast-iron snout
- staring at me without blinking will not force me to give her what I am eating, and
- if I am in my underwear and holding a glass of Scotch, we are not going for a walk.

Find me a rock that accomplishes all that, and then you'll have something special. I'll buy enough of that one to make a necklace, a belt, earrings, AND replace the kitchen counters. Find me a rock that, when placed beside Gus the Cat, will allow him to truly believe that, NO, meowing twenty minutes after I go to bed will not make me get up and turn on the bathtub water so he can get a drink from the faucet. I'll build a dang house outta that one.

How Many Peckers Does It Take To Change A Light Bulb?

2010-04-06T16:00:00.000-05:00

I got this email a while back from our friend Liz:

"There's a bird in the Philippines called the Whiskered Flowerpecker.
Happy now"

That was it. So I think to myself, "Hunh. Nope, I certainly am NOT happy now. I WAS happy before I read that email, and now I am something, but not happy." So I googled "Whiskered Flowerpecker", and found this image, which does not look whiskered at all. Perhaps mustachioed, if one were a myopic poet, but 'whiskered' is not how I would have described it.

But here's the deal- see, Liz seemed to think that I needed to know about the Whiskered Flowerpecker, but when I went to the site http://orientalbirdimages.org/birdimages.php?action=birdfamily&Bird_Family_ID=179

I found out that good ol' Liz is holding out on us. There is not only a Whiskered Flowerpecker, but there's also a Buzzing Flowerpecker, a Flame-Crowned Flowerpecker, a Flame-Breasted Flowerpecker, a FIRE-Breasted Flowerpecker, a Golden-Rumped Flowerpecker, an Orange-Bellied Flowerpecker, a Pygmy Flowerpecker, a Spectacled Flowerpecker, a Yellow-Rumped Flowerpecker, a Red-Striped Flowerpecker, a Pale-Billed Flowerpecker, and a PLAIN Flowerpecker, and that's only half the list.

If you try to look for more Flowerpecker images, you find this:

which is not a Flowerpecker at all, but is a Bayheaded Bee-Eater, which, as you can see in the photo, is actually eating a dragonfly.

So if you then attempt to find out more about Whiskered Flowerpeckers, you get this:

flowerpecker - Species

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So what IS this??!! Okay- so Flowerpeckers:

a.) are indigenous to the Phillipines

b.) don't actually match their descriptions

c.) are suspiciously named,

d.) have something to do with Homeland Security, and

e.) Liz, who KNOWS that I am the mastermind behind uncovering secret conspiracies, wants me to KNOW about them, and sends me extremely cryptic messages regarding their existence-

Are you getting the idea? I'm thinking that these avians are subversive types who bear close watching. OOOOOO!! BIRD- WATCHERS!!! OMG! All these years, we all thought that bird-watchers were odd, quiet, pencil-necked geeks who drank herbal tea..... could it be that these brave warriors have been protecting us all along?? Have these stalwart Amazons held corruption and the price of millet at bay all these years, with no reward, no fanfare, no respect? Without them, where would we be right now? Is Roger Tory Peterson the unsung Paul Revere??

I am going to follow up on this. There is something big Big BIG going on, and it involves flowers, peckers, whiskers, and the Phillipines. (Sounds kinda like an ex-coworker's Grandpa, but that's another blog.) Stay tuned for updates, but in the meantime, hunker down- I myself saw a sapsucker last week, and he pretended he didn't understand English. Perilous times, these.

Assuming It's Spring

2010-04-05T16:29:00.000-05:00

Let's assume it's not going to snow anymore.
Let's go with "it's spring, and if you plant something, it'll start to grow."
My amaryllis (from Ms. Alexis many years ago, thanks) look like this, finally, and Tikva is coming along just dandy. Trees are throwing off pollen like confetti; it looks like Nature is throwing a ticker tape parade for herself, and we're all invited whether we like it or not. The top of my truck is yellow with what our friend Liz refers to as Conifer Sex, and I have to admit right now that I am a little ticked off about the fact that, currently, my Ilex vomitoria is partying way more than I am. Hey- I'm old, and I'm tired. Back off.

A Letter From Gus

2010-03-29T08:31:00.000-06:00

My Friends,

I come to you today to attempt a solution to a vexing communication problem. I believe you all understand intricacies of human speech that I do not have the time or interest to master, despite the fact that this has now led to a situation that is becoming most annoying.

I refer to the fact that I no longer wish to eat Mister Pussy Organic Fishy Doodles. I have done so in the past, it is true, but I have recently decided that they no longer suit me. I wish to move on, preferably to an all-tuna diet, but She Who Fills The Bowl refuses to acquiesce to my pleas. I tell her, over and over again, as politely as possible, that the Fishy Doodles are no longer adequate fare, and she is adamant about insisting that they are, since she just yesterday purchased an amazing quantity of them because, prior to that, they had been my favorite.

This is why I come to you, my Dietary Liasons. You must convince this Person that it is futile to continue to foist Fishy Doodles upon me since I shall not eat them. I am sorry that the cat food budget is shot. That is not my problem. It is possible that at some point in the future I shall eat them, but the current Fishy Doodles will naturally have to be thrown out since, by then, they shall be stale. Please counsel this Person that, if she would shop for my breakfast daily, she might avoid such misfortune in the future.

Thanking you all in advance,
I am,
Sincerely,
Augustus Thistledu

An Open Letter To Rush, Glenn, And Satan

2010-03-24T18:16:00.000-06:00

I've been trying to blog this week. TRULY I have. But every time I've sat down to chat about little fluffy bunnies and perky flowers, I get mad as hell. Turns out- I can't concentrate on things that make my life wonderful- I've been too busy thinking about my Life.
And so I will take a very huge chance and write about what's really been on my mind. Stop me if you've heard this one.

Back in November, I clutched my chest, went to my knees, and had trouble catching my breath. Whee!
Now- I have worked for 30 years, reached 55, and got laid off, so you know that I have no health insurance. No problem. I'm terrifically healthy and I'm shacked up with a retired doc. But on this day, the one where I dang near felt like mentioning that something might be wrong with me, I had to make a choice. Seek treatment, and risk that I would never again qualify for insurance because I would have a pre-existing condition? Or catch my breath, figure the whole thing was due to simple stress, and get over it? It was a no-brainer.
Things are different now! I realize that, as of a couple days ago, I can go get a EKG, pay for it myself, and know what's up inside my fabulous body, and I won't have to worry about pre-existing! But- there are people, and some of them are otherwise good people, who don't want me to have that option. There are people out there who are mad as hell that I might be able to live. I do not blame them, since I expect to spend whatever time I have left making fun of them.
The fact that these people- I shall call them "Tighty Righties"- are foamy-lipped over the fact that millions of people just like me now have a chance in hell confuses me. I have to ask them here and now- What the hell did I ever do to you? Why do YOU get pills and I don't? Why does Rush get to have a heart attack in Hawaii, take advantage of Hawaiian state health care, pronounce it great, and then call me stupid for believing that I'd like a slice of that, too? (I wonder if Hawaiian IV's come with little umbrellas in tthem? Only one way to find out, I guess.)
This is for Rush and alllllll his hand-wringing, small minions. I ask him:
What are you FOR??
You're for family values? GREAT!! Democrats are, too!! Go figure!
Oh- wait. You say Democrat family values aren't valuable? Like.... they might be.... g-a-y??? Oh, my. Tell ya what, Tighty R. Have you ever been inside a Hooter's?? Do you know the names of anybody that Britney might have been married to?
Then SHUT UP.

Here's another one. You're pro-life?? Guess what!! Democrats are, too!!!! YAY!!
Oops- you say that pro-choice equals pro-death?? Well, that's wrong. It's pro-CHOICE, that's why it's called that instead of pro-death. But I'll give you this one:
How many unwanted children have you adopted? If the answer is Zero-
Then SHUT UP.

You say that the "liberal media" is responsible for lies? By "liberal media", you mean the papers and radio programs that attempt to show both sides of any issue? You mean those media that were bound to do that by something called the Fairness Doctrine, which was repealed by Ronald Reagan? Tell ya what- if you yourself are making scads of money on your own show, which is broadcast by any media at all-
Then SHUT UP.

The Tighty R's just this day started cramming amendments up the chute, and got all self-righteous about one to prevent taxpayers buying Viagra for sex offenders. Guess what??!! I don't want to pay for ANYBODY'S Viagra!! ESPECIALLY Rush's, for chrissakes. Gives me the willies just to think about it. (Willies. Get it?? HHHHAAAAhahhaaaaa *snork*)

I have something I have to admit. I would love to have been able to become a R ... R.... wait a minute... RrrRRRep.... I can do this...... Republican. I am a fiscal conservative. Many Democratic programs have been shown to not work. I would have been ready to bite that bullet and go with it, but the miasma of pure hatred, fear-mongering, and flat lies about almost everything has infiltrated That Party make it, in my mind, the New Terrorism. Think about it- Rush, Glenn, Sean, they've all accomplished what Osama could not. They have brought America to the brink of some kind of civil war. They have frayed every nerve, polarized every issue, and encouraged otherwise good people to sink into pits of hate, fear, and misinformation. They know exactly how to manipulate those who are looking for someone to tell them what to think. They have said that they want the President to fail- and what people don't realize is that if he fails, then America fails, because like it or not, he is our elected leader. The manifestation of this hatred and fear is creating exactly what actually will bring America down, what IS currently breaking her spirit and expending her resources. Osama should be proud of the Tighty Righties. He's slapping his forehead and shouting, "DUH! When you attack America outright, she grows strong and unified! But when you insinuate suspicion, when you whisper doubt, when you find someone who is looking for compromise and can feel good about calling them 'stupid'- THAT is how you destroy her. That's the way terrorism will be successful." You gotta be swelling with pride, Man. You have more power than be measured- I mean, you're the guy who could bully Sarah Palin into backing down after she said she resented people using the word 'retard'. And people loved Sarah! Obviously, they love you more!

Tell ya what, Rush. You're no spring chicken, you know. I mean- you could pop off just about any day. Remember Hawaii? I'm just curious- how are you gonna feel when you're lying there, looking into that Light? You should be proud, man. You made 49bajillion dollars by selling your country. You took charge of all those tiny people and told them what to think. Didn't matter if it created a living hell for the rest of us. Fox loved you, Babe. They'll probably create a new Rushburger at Hooter's.

Sorry- I digress. The point is- there are people out there whom I do not remember hurting who nonetheless wish me to not be well, and I take that personally. It's not like I want medication that costs thousands per month. As a ward of the state, I cannot expect that. I don't expect doctors to rush to my side if I sneeze. But I would love to know if my myocardial infarcted. Just curious, ya know. I'm told "Oh, but you'll have to wait MONTHS for an operation!" GREAT. Last week, the operation would have been out of the question. I'll wait and be happy as hell, thanks.

Tell ya what. If you're screaming about the unconstitutionality of this health care bill, and you personally HAVE health insurance-

SHUT UP.

The Real Pain In The Tuchas

2010-03-20T09:22:00.000-06:00

Last year, I pulled a muscle in my lower back. It wasn't incapacitating, and it wasn't like those sitcoms where Dad can't get off the floor and must crawl to the beer fridge, but I can tell you that when I felt something in my lumbar go Sproiiing!, I immediately and completely, for the first time ever in my life, understood on a deep level what the definition of Humble Obedience is.
I'm telling you this because I went to visit our buddy Gail last week, and Gail had recently pulled a muscle in her lower back. Now, originally, the reason I went to see her was to get more of that rock she's donating to TIKVA, but she was creeping around in a comfy sweatsuit, and I was not too far behind her (I have gotten the idea that my back aches every time it's going to rain, like your great-granny's ancient bones. I am running a scientific study to document this phenomenon, wherein I make a mark on a wall every time my back flares up and then it rains. So far, I have three marks.)
Anyway, since neither of us was in the mood to shove 40-pound rocks into a truck bed, we were forced to look at decorating magazines instead.
OMGOMGOMG!!
For every reader who might not be female, I should explain that all women are born with the inherent powers to decorate every home she sets foot into except her own. It's a fact. So Gail and I love to go through each other's houses and say things like, "OH! This would look wonderful in ginger or maybe paprika, with some little shots of glacier blue..... You know. If you're a girl, you know. So we get to talking about how much fun it would be to do this for MONEY, and right there is where I pull up the horses. The fact is that I know that I could not work for a client. I know that I would strangle them before it was time to write the check.
I've heard too many stories. My sister had a decorator friend who had a client redoing her kitchen, and this woman had the idea that nothing was going to be good enough. This decorator took her through every single paint chip, fabric, and sparkly chandelier in the catalog, trying to guide her into the Good Taste aisle, and when they got to selecting countertops, this woman was insistent on finding something that no one else had. No one else could even have known about its existence previous to being served scrambled eggs upon it. Granite was old hat. Antique French limestone from the Louis VII's private knee-viewing chamber was too used.
Finally, the decorator said she found something called gondowondolite- that would do. There is only one slab in the world because anybody who goes into the gondowondo mine is killed the instant they emerge to prevent them from telling anybody else where the quarry is. That makes it pretty expensive, but totally worth it. Of course there wasn't quite enough of it to do the entire kitchen, so the client sold her house and moved into a smaller one, and then before the installation could be finished, they found out that gondowondolite is radioactive, so the client signed a waiver stating that she and her husband were finished having children anyway.

Now, I would have dispatched this woman by the time I showed her the third paint chip and she had started to say, "Nnnnn.....". I know how to kill. My second husband, Vlad, was a part-time ninja and showed me. Not that I have had an opportunity to use it. Legally.
I know myself well enough to know that my considerable decor skills must remain pro bono. For people I love and want to see happy. The looks on their faces when they see their improved conditions are all the reward I care about. And the more it rains, the more time I'll have to redecorate. I'm thinking murals on ceilings for all the time we're spending flat on our backs. The weather forecasters all call for a long, wet spring.

Before...

2010-03-13T21:31:00.000-06:00

This is what I started with out at the TIKVA garden this year.
Can you imagine this thing looking this bleak by the time the chili cookoff came, what with a thousand people going past it? They'd be thinking "Heavens to Betsy, Mortimer, this project is a trifle underwhelming, ne c'est pas?"

I could not allow that to happen, People. Not on my watch. Not this year.
No matter what it took, I was going to finish this blasted space. No matter how many Advils. And because of the weather this year, I had six days to do it.

And AFTER

2010-03-13T21:27:00.000-06:00

OOOOoooOOOOOAAAhhhh, you say??

Damn straight, Oooh freakin' ahhhh.

You DON'T say oooh freakin' aaah I'll personally come over to your house and teach you how to say OOOOH freakin' AHH, dangit.

Well- it'll look better when all the plants fill out and grow in, And frankly, this was what the nurseries have in stock right now- I'm thinking actually that I'd like to design each of the four plots as different garden ideas: one xeriscape with natives and grasses, one a classic rose plot maybe, one full of herbs and medicinals, one..... oh heck, you call it. You get the idea.
Our buddy Gail donated the limestone in the center (I made my own cairn) and she says there's more where that comes from. TIKVA's going to look like the town of Bedrock if I have my way, and I usually do.

The Elephant In The Room

2010-03-10T18:51:00.000-06:00

Remember when you were a kid, and everything that adults did was stupid? Adults made terrible decisions and they insisted that events that nobody really cared about were terribly important, and in general, they made everybody miserable and there was nothing you could do about it because you were, technically, their trick poodle and you had to go along with their train wrecks and smile pretty?? Remember??

YES YOU DO- do not tell me otherwise.

My point is that for a couple of years now, I've been involved in making up for lost time. Since my *ahem* downsizing, I've felt that I've been given this precious gift of time- to paint, to play, to get back in touch with life outside the cubicle. To finally live my Real Life. So- for two years, I've been jumping into the metaphorical ocean, watching for that big wave, paddling like hell, all while reading the pamphlet on how to swim. And that's how, this morning, I found myself- an adult- broken into little panicky pieces because it's raining.

See- here's the thing. As you know, the chili cookoff at Tiferet Israel is Sunday, and the weather has prevented me from getting the TIKVA garden up and going. It looks abandoned- little poots of broccoli, sad little fronds of last year's turnips. But- it's supposed to rain. Again. No trucking in half a cubic yard of soil for this lady. No nothin'. So instead, I email the arts group I'm volunteering for, and solve some issues about soliciting donations, and there's a meeting Sunday, and what art am I going to donate to the sale, and should I paint the kitchen, and after that, I decide that I can get some boards up on the fence I'm in the middle of rebuilding, so I get the drill driver and the ladder, because the fence is 7'-8" tall, and I get the saw because the boards are 8', and I start to go at it, and I can't because Gus the Cat has commandeered the ladder and is happily ensconced up on the top platform. And he's officially cruisin' for a bruisin' and slaps me if I try to dethrone him.
Well- the day is shot anyway. So I go with it- I grab an ivy tendril and waggle it, and he's On. Gus is Da Badazz- and Katie is trying to grab the ivy and avoid his slaps at the same time, and we're having fun. The anxieties about "What if" and "I really should" go away for just a minute. We just had fun. Then the storms came in for real, and the animals skedaddled for the couch, where they still are.

Now, of course, a couple of hours later, guess what? Storms have moved through, and all that stuff I was worried about can now be put back on the menu. It's all going to get done after all. I've played, and I still will get everything accomplished, when for two years I've been living with the feeling that it's all been slipping away because I'm not doing enough.
And there's the elephant.
When did I turn into an adult?? When did this lucid little kid turn into the enemy?? Where do I get off believing I'm so important that everything will fall to pieces unless I'm involved??
(Okay- I actually know the answer to that one. It's been proved that everything truly WILL fall apart without me. If you don't think so, then mosey up to Jerry next time you see him and ask him if we need cat food.) Point is, a cat was able to show me what's important this morning. Let's see if he wants to take a swipe at my Inner Elephant.

2010-03-05T10:23:00.000-06:00

There's real comfort in knowing that you're with your Core Group. That you're surrounded by Your People. Those to whom you do not have to explain yourself, because they're behaving that way before you are.
What I mean is that I got an email this morning from some artists I'm collaborating with on a sculpture project. To be precise, each of us is supposed to be working on our own sculptures with periodic input from the rest of the group- in effect, we'll have four pieces that are a little bit of all of us. (It took us a while to understand the rules of this project. We all know how to get together and kvetch about problems we've encountered and offer ideas; what's weird is that, in this case, we supposed to officially do that, and it's thrown us for a loop.) After all these sculptures are finished in the autumn sometime, they will be displayed at a hootie-tootie venue in Dallas. Oh, yeah- we are simply too hot to handle, People.

I've done massive amounts of doodly squat on my particular project. At the last group meeting, we had all decided to use those Mother May I masks as the Ayers offering (Oh, yeah, and that ticked me off, too. Sheesh! I know what to do with those- it's some other bits of whimsy I have sitting around not knowing how to finish off that I wanted these so-called 'artists' to tell me what to do with! But did they pick one of those?? NO! They all go "Oh! Let's present these faces!!" Thanks a lot, guys.)
So here I am, and I had a note on my calendar that tomorrow was supposed to be the next Collaborage meeting with my art posse. And I have all kinds of ideas about those other sculptures. My own, not so much. And I look at my email this morning, and here's a note from Artist A:
"Hey- it says here we're supposed to meet tomorrow! Didn't we move that to next week instead?"
Artist B:
"Yeah- we decided next week. But... I haven't done anything yet. Would you mind if we put it off till week after next?"
Artist C:
"No problem with me. Hey- how about next month? I haven't worked on this either."

This is when I understood for the umpteenth time that I love art.
These are My People. Not having to explain yourself?
Priceless.

Time For Your Schquooshaboogums Interlude

2010-03-01T20:13:00.000-06:00

I brought you a box o' puppies.

Katie's mom and dad decided that 14 wasn't enough and had six more.

YES, I know that there are only five here. One is busy, still eating.

They are definitely related to Katie.

Mapping For Dummies

2010-02-23T14:07:00.000-06:00

The news blurbs that trickle off the bottom of the Yahoo page every morning usually don't interest me enough to follow them. They're about celebrities whose names I never heard of, or about tragedies that I don't need inside my head before my first cup of coffee, or it's new information about the benefits of jute as a nutritional supplement. But this one got me.
Apparently, teams of archaeologists have been working 24/7 for a decade to uncover an ancient street in Jerusalem. Actually, there was already a street there- this old one was eight feet underneath it. And the team was very excited to find that the street was where an equally ancient map had said it would be.

My face puckered up when I read that. "What?" I thought, adorably, as is my habit, "Why would they doubt the map? Like- did the ancient mosaic map makers enjoy spending weeks of labor to make fake city maps as a practical joke?" I imagined the scene... here's a half-dozen guys, their togas are all blotched with schmutz, and they're on their hands and knees, working on this map of Jerusalem, and one guy goes, "Hey! Let's draw Main Street going straight through, instead of circling the mikva and the vomitorium!" The others would hoot and throw grout at him and say, "You meshugga bastard!" until another guy goes, "Just imagine the next time Caesar comes to town and he looks at the map and ends up in the municipal cloaca instead of the Senate- that would be priceless!!" and the other guys all look at each other and shout "LET'S DO IT!" and so they do and when it's discovered what they did, they all get thrown to the lions, but in private, the Mayor says it truly was funny as hell.

But that did not happen, as we all know 2,000 years later. The map is actually correct ( like, DUH) and there was the ancient street. But that is not what interested me- it is this image of the map itself. Isn't it fabulous?? And I'm thinking "Wouldn't that be absolutely amazing in, say, a dining room? I really want to replicate this image for somebody somewhere. I'm thinking it would be nice to put it somewhere Jewishy, but I suppose it wouldn't be completely necessary. I could do it out at the Tikva garden- I could do it in gravel. You'll see me out there, separating peas of gravel into nuances of color, and you'll go "That meshugga shiksa! Such a schlamozzle!!"
That's the curse of being a mosaicist.
In 2,000 years another team of scientists will see that yes, there really was okra planted exactly where that ancient planting plan said it was. I'll get them all excited and not paying attention, then whammee! right into the 2,000-year-old compost pile. It'll be priceless.

Katie Watches Westminister

2010-02-19T09:41:00.000-06:00

She wanted the Puli to win, too.

Urgent Modifications To Doubleball Regulations

2010-02-16T12:21:00.000-06:00

The International Doubleball Commission (see February 2009) has become aware of unregulated play within the confines of the approved Doubleball arenas, and has convened with the purpose of establishing Rules And Regulations for such unauthorized play. The Amendment #3 Rules are hereby presented to the Doubleball-playing public, to be implemented immediately:

1. WHEREAS the more intelligent specimen of Dog matures and gets wise to the rules of Doubleball, therefore becoming indolent and unresponsive, it is the prerogative of the Human therefore to initiate a vertical form of Doubleball. It is hereby approved that this Vertical Doubleball be hereafter referred to as Roofball.

2. Rules and regulations governing Doubleball remain in effect for Roofball, with the additional rules pertaining to the 3rd dimension, i.e.:

a. The Human must, when preparing to deliver the Ball upwards onto the Roof, alert the Dog by yelling "ROOFBALL!" It is the responsibility of the Dog to then determine the roof english of the Ball and move into proper receiving position.

b. If the Dog correctly calculates the descent coordinates of the Ball and makes a Clean Catch, the Dog is awarded 14 points. If the Dog misses the Clean Catch, but performs an Accelerated Snoot Bunt, the Dog is awarded 9 points. If the Dog goes to the wrong side of the house from where the Ball lands, and, even after hearing the Ball land with a big thump, she steadfastly remains on the wrong side of the house, looking up at the gutters, the Human is awarded 100 points and the title of Superior Roofmaster.

c. Roofball may only be played for points when there is 0"- 2" of snowfall, for the following reasons:

Ball delivery on Friday.

Ball position on Saturday.

Ball resumes play on Sunday.

These Rules and Regulations, hereby being adopted as Amendment #3 by the International Doubleball Commission, are hereby in effect immediately. Petitions may be considered, but probably won't be.

Waking Up In Another World

2010-02-12T11:35:00.000-06:00

It snowed until 3:00 a.m.

The young oak trees in my front yard are bent double, and my neighbor's trees took a hit.

This snow is unbelievably wet and heavy and it packs like gangbusters. I think that if somebody built a snow car out of it, that it would test out as being street legal.

Katie chases snowballs and goes hunting for them when they hit the ground and explode.

This is my snow dog.

He started out as a dog, then he became a Galapagos tortoise all by himself, and since you cannot argue successfully with nature (haven't you been paying attention?) I let it be a tortoise, but then his head collapsed and he became a dog again.

A Giant Schnauzer, I believe.

I looked in my International Dog Encyclopedia and that's what it was.

Maybe an Airedale mix.

I Do NOT Want To Talk About It

2010-02-11T21:20:00.000-06:00

I give up. I admit defeat.

I will never garden again.

That's it.

I had narcissus beginning to blossom 3 days ago. They are now popsicles.

I have a community garden that needs to get under production.

I can fuggeddabouddit.

Thank goodness doggie coats were on half price just yesterday.

It's pretty. It packs like a sunuvagun, too. And if Texas stays true to form, it'll be 60 next week, so all my kvetching will be about how much work outside I have to do.

Three inches in 12 hours.

PHHT. I give up.

The Five-Minute Show

2010-02-08T09:26:00.000-06:00

'Found Art' isn't always a thing you can hold in your hands.

I have big bay windows at the front of my home, and for a little while, this tiny personal Mardi Gras was shining through them onto my red wall.

I've been thinking that this exact image would make a spectacular set of sushi plates. Yeah??

It's Nice To Have Followers

2010-02-04T11:42:00.000-06:00

It's always fun to open up ArtGardenLife and see new People-
new, terribly chic, intelligent, People who obviously understand all the best that Life has to offer- and tell them "Howdy".

Imagine you're me. (You can do it. You just pucker ya lips and b-l-o-w on your coffee.)
You get up in the morning and try to walk around the house with the dog weaving happily through your legs like a manic pussycat, and you turn on the computer. And there they are! Fourteen fabulous People! You do a little whoopee dance- do you remember the way Daffy Duck hopped around, going "WoohooWOOhooWOOOOhhooo!"
That's what I do when I see new Followers. And then I think "OMG. Who ARE these People?" So I go look.
Some of you are very cryptic and mysterious.... bwaahaaahaaa- and I can appreciate that. Not your talkative sorts. Okay. You get invited to parties because you provide an inscrutable ambience, and you look great with a Cheeto poised in your hand, just so. I get it.
Others are outgoing, chatty types who follow lists of blogs- and I'm thrilled when these blogs are full of poetry and animals and questions and family...it means that ArtGardenLife has found a nest within that genre. I like to think that AGL adds a much-needed Alternate Reality Butler With Martinis twist, of course. A little oomph, ya know. I like to think that. ( I also like to think about what I'm going to wear when I accept my Oscar. Do sequins make me look fat? Who cares? I'm the one with the Oscar.)
But back to You People! Right. Your dreams of an animal sanctuary in Australia, your Greek fashion sense, the herbs on your balcony in the city, your studio in the heart of the Texas scenery- it's all part of ArtGardenLife. That, and really great shoes.
And Cheetos. You irresistible enigma, you.

Found... And For What?

2010-02-01T08:50:00.000-06:00

I'm ready to leave the subject of Art for a while, since it's a hopeless rotten task anyway, and nobody knows why we do it, and nobody's buying right now unless you're name is Kinkaid and you have your own line of specialty light bulbs (no kidding!).
But I cannot abandon the theme yet. There is one more tiny thread that needs to be pulled on so that our Art Pants will fall down and we can step out of them with dignity. (Metaphorically speaking, of course. Dropping actual pants and walking around hairy-legged is called 'performance art' and is not the subject here.)
"Found Art", for those who are not artists and are therefore undisturbed by printmakers with light bulbs, is something I found extremely distasteful for many years. Hated it. Shuddered every time I found garbage stuck all over an otherwise only tacky sculpture. Found Art is just that- stuff that you run across that's stuck in the street grate after a storm, or something the dog is trying to stuff down her goozle before you make her drop it. I actually have come up with a definition:
'Found Art- bits of useless crap that couldn't even be thrown away successfully.'

I can hear you. You're thinking "so why on Earth does she save this stuff??" I will tell you.
A while back, I found this disembodied Casper head and -typically- shuddered with horror. That simpleton smile symbolizes everything that's wrong with Life. I picked it up because I wanted to give it to a sculptor I knew of who likes that kind of stuff, but I ended up keeping it because, well, I'm lazy. And then this weird thing happened.
I ran across this happy, stupid thing years later and it struck me, "Who wanted this thing to start with? And where is his little ecoplastic body?" And last, most important, "Why does this thing even exist??" And that was the key.
Turns out that at least for a little while, Found Art and Humans have the same existential dilemma. We exist, and there's no rational explanation for it. Go figure.
I'll get tired of it all at some point and move on. It would be kinda pathetic if I don't, right? But I'm not yet finished with the amazement of what exists out there, and why it turns up in front of me. The stories you tell yourself about this stuff do form a sort of connection between you and the imagined previous owner, like a Crap Seance. I'm hooked, and lately I've been actually looking for lost bits of flotsam. The cup holders in my truck are full of lost earrings that have been run over and broken sparklie pink stars. Time to reconnect with that tacky sculptor and unload a box full on her- we'll both win.
But Casper is MINE. I need periodic reminding that existence is temporary. And he IS shaped like a light bulb.

Cougar Boots

2010-01-27T14:04:00.000-06:00

Art Schmart!!

Forgeddabouddit!! Who cares??!!

LOOKIT THESE BOOTIES!!

I can become a professional cougar with these babies. (I really have to remember- it's cougar, not coyote. I get my predatory species mixed up.)

They were on sale and I never heard of the designer but he's Italian and I might be forced to marry him. I mean- he understands me. Right??

WOOF!!!

The Craftiness of Art

2010-01-24T20:48:00.000-06:00

Something must be in the air. I'm sneezing, someone else is getting over bronchitis, Katie is kackking and burping (although Dr. Jerry has diagnosed that as being fluff-tongue from a new toy Santa hat from her granny Joan), and- most seriously- you People are using the comment section to discuss Art and What That Might Be. Which is excellent. Imagine: here's me, seeing the comment totals spiking, and cackling with glee at the thought that you all have gotten sucked into the Art Debate. WHEE! What- is the weather so bad that you can't turn off the computer and take a walk? Nothing on TV? Nope- admit it. You care about how art affects you. (I'd tell you about how art affects me, but I have no health insurance and don't want to dwell on it.)

But in the art-vs. craft comments, our rhedrose has brought up that the definition of art is that which touches something within you; makes you sit up and blink, as though at a bright light suddenly turned on within..... think about your soul as being a nocturnal possum, and Art as being a 1962 Cadillac Eldorado coming over a hill with its brights on. You don't want to be flattened, but you're also kinda okay with it as long as it's by a classic. Am I right??

But rhed's comment about art will be agreed to by any artist you talk to. What prompted me to post this is that her comment begs the original question "What is Art, and What is Craft?"

The answer will remain vague because Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec screwed it up for the rest of us. That fumier was given a craft job to do- produce publicity posters- and he turned it into Art. And not on purpose! He simply performed a grunt job in a way that turned the ordinary into the sublime, and subsequently we are still flattened, one hundred years later. His simple act of 'keeping it real' makes the difference, I believe..... although I'll admit that Lautrec's 'real' and, say, MINE might be worlds apart. Maybe that's what makes an artist iconic. Fresh after hundreds of years. Maybe the debate isn't "what is art/ craft" after all, but "what inner level does an artist have to achieve so that whatever she touches becomes art?"

And how many possums have to die before you get a one-woman show at the Frick?

Wrapped Up And Tied With A Bow

2010-01-22T18:17:00.000-06:00

It's time to bring up art again, because I've recently gotten into a discussion with another artist, and the topic is a fast-and-loose form of "when is it Art, and when is it Craft?"

I can hear you all sighing- well, just pull up your Critical Thought Panties, go get a Twinkie, and come help me with this. Yes, it's a debate that nobody can win because there's a different answer for everyone. But it's a very, very important question because artists everywhere, at some point, all begin to second-guess themselves and give up pursuing a particular art because they begin to feel it's not... Art.

My point is that these wire bits were created by this artist during a happy fit of whimsy. And she showed them to me and I went all "OMG!" And, of course, that made them 'Art' and my friend subsequently shut them down and shoved them under the bed. She does not consider herself to be an artist, and, therefore, she freaked out. When I absolutely liked them, they moved from 'happy random' to 'serious' and I wrecked the whole paradigm.

I have wondered why I like these hands so much, and I have decided that:

1. There's also part of an arm. With a bracelet. That makes it... into a narrative, somehow.

2. There's 'found art' included. That key. Again- narrative. I used to trash-talk found art, but now I'm starting to dig it. Like this- I was walking the dog and found a single book page blown into a pile of leaves. It turned out to be from an Italian dictionary: 'ricorrere' (to come around again) to 'rigido' (rigid, strict, austere).

3. It's not spelled out for you- the story that the hands tell isn't being crammed down your throat. 'Craft' would write down a pleasant homily for you. "Home Is Where The Heart Is" and it would add a little heart and maybe a dove. *yikes*

No, this is not museum art; not glass-of-chardonnay-and-black-turtleneck. But something about it and others like it struck me as being 'genuine' (excuse all the quote marks here- they drive English majors nuts, but -hey- it's my 'blog' so 'hush'.)

Anyway, the hands are perfectly what they are. Very real. I think. And that, for me, takes them out of 'craft' and into 'hey- pay attention'. They are not created for sale. They were just created.

*and here's where the phone rang*

Okay, I now have the answer, and dammmed if our Liz hasn't spelled it out, just as slick as anything.

"If somebody buys it, it's craft," she said.

Well, $^%$^&%!!!! NOW what do I do?

Dog: 1, Human: 0

2010-01-20T10:14:00.000-06:00

I was going to tell you all about several key issues in the Human Condition today.

There are several critical arenas in which the diversity of ideology affects quality of life on this planet, and recent social intemperance has made it necessary to use ArtGardenLife to promote intelligent, thoughtful, and concise reexamination of traditionally mandated platforms.

But I can't. Look at what I found this morning. Jerry got up before dawn, as usual, and I was awake enough to look for my pillow. I couldn't find it. I found the harder, flatter one- oh, yeah. But I wanted the fluffy, soft one with the silk pillowcase. (Silk is supposed to make your wrinkles nicer.) I glanced down at the dog bed, and look where I found my pillow. To make things worse, I couldn't bring myself to take it back because Katie was USING it. Look at it.

So I went back to sleep on my hard, flat, blue, cotton pillow, and now I have to go buy Katie a pillow, I guess- she seemed comfy. But I flatly refuse to buy her a silk one. I will NOT spoil this dog.

Retiring The Internet Hamster

2010-01-14T18:04:00.000-06:00

I'm back!! I'm here!!

Didja miss me??

Oh yes- you are all saying in unison "Oh Jan!! We were sooooo worried!! We haven't heard a peep from you in SOOOO long!! Heavens to Betsy, where were you??"

Yes, People- you can say that all you want to, but the fact is that not one of you rushed over here to check on me. I mean- I might have been abducted by aliens and forced to eat tacos al carbonara for a week. (I wish.) I might have been lying here in a taco-induced coma all this time, babbling hysterically about por que de trabajo, and drooling all over my new tile floor. Would you have known about it? Would you have seen my limp, barbacoa-smeared body and known to administer an immediate margarita?? HUH??

Hah. You would not. You didn't even know I was missing.

The fact is that I have been slaving away for you People all year on a... shall we say ..."substandard" internet server. One of you smirked that the hamster wore out the treadmill. "Hah!" I replied. "That's just silly! The hamster didn't run a treadmill- it ran a small kite with a key attached to it. Get real."

Well, the point is that today- mark this date- I actually got an upgrade. I got the best server that fifty bucks and a can of Cerveza provides. You know those You Tube clips you People send me? Guess what- not only can I look at the title graphics now, but I can also watch the actual video! Who knew??!!

People, I'm here to tell you that there is going to be no holding me back now. This upgrade is going to fuel my Rocket To Glory, and you will be there to watch. And thanks a lot for being patient with me so far- all I have to do now is google 'rodents.com' to check out how long Tasmanian ferrets live, and what to feed them to get optimum kite-moderation.

Cuidado!!

And Good Riddance

2009-12-31T14:35:00.000-06:00

Show of hands! Who made it out of 2009 in one piece even though there was a betting pool out there who had even odds that you'd wind up as High Priestess in a snake-handling cult in Bolivia because you needed the perks?? Who managed to emerge from this whole stinkin' decade with enough of their wits intact to fill up a dog bowl??

Huh?

YOU, that's who. Hah! You scoff at events mired within the time/space continuum, on account of Stephen Hawking says that those things are not the basis of Reality anyway. You laugh at Beingness, on account of the Buddah says that material manifestation of suffering is an illusion. You snork with derision at those six extra pounds you have gained since November, because you and Einstein know that those six pounds need to move at the speed of light in order to have actual mass. Hey- it's science, People, and according to the finest minds in the Universe, this decade never even existed anyway, so screw it.

"Throw off the shackles of numerically-based reality progression and embrace the totality of Now-realized potential!!" I say.

"How does one do this?" you ask.

"Depends!!" I reply. "Do you prefer a triple-distilled artisanal martini or a Sonoma County red??"

"HUZZAH!!" you all shout with one voice. "2009 ...... we don't remember 2009 anymore!!"

And so the world is saved.

Listen up, People- take good care of your quantum probabilities this New Year.

Snow Apologies from Me

2009-12-25T20:48:00.000-06:00

Yes, I know that you are all sick and tired of snow pictures, but I'm afraid you're all stuck with it.
The snow didn't melt overnight! I mean- if it ever actually snowed in Texas.

I wasn't fast enough to get the whole dog.

Gus decided to look at it from inside.

And maybe this weather will convince the clematis to close up shop for the year.

Poor thing can't decide what to do- since four days ago we were running around in 72 degrees.

Seriously.

That's the best/worst thing about living exactly on the line between blue northers from Montana and tropical kisses from Mexico. You end up glued to the weather channel, wondering if it's going to be potato soup or pina coladas for supper.

Christmas Shenanigans

2009-12-24T18:45:00.000-06:00

Look at this!! Little Miss "Oh It Doesn't Snow In Texas" has to suck it up and admit that m-a-y-b-e it does after all. We're getting a doozy storm in Dallas, with actual snowflakes! On Christmas Eve! No sleet, no ice, no slush. Just nice white fluffy stuff, and Boy howdy, is Katie wired up.

"Oh, "it doesn't SNOW in Texas"

ZOOM!

DOUBLEZOOM!!

Umm.... it's really freakin' cold out here, Mom- is it suppertime yet??

In ya go.

This is that sunroom floor that I'm tiling- all done except the grout.

Visions of squirrelplums.

Waiting for Santa.

Ok Ok. I give up. It absolutely snows in Texas. Sorry. My bad.

And on Christmas Eve, too...

Merry Christmas, Ya Dawgs.

The Last Harvest

2009-12-24T17:47:00.000-06:00

I need to show you my lil teeny peppers before I forget.

Since, of course, I pulled up the plants a couple of weeks ago. They really tried to keep producing, but as you can see, life just got the better of them. You know how it is.

So, anyway, this is the last pepper I got this year, and I want you all to see it because it's so dang cute.

I mean, can you believe it?

So I thought I'd try to make some immortal images with them. I have these chairs.... and the texture of the patio... (which, by the way, you curse under your breath if you're barefoot)... anyway, I thought maybe I could preserve these lil teeny peppers forever in this tres artistic photograph. The unique juxtaposition of the natural with the manufactured; the play of texture heightening the quixotic paradigm; the sensibilities of otherwise-overlooked serendipity.

You know?

So, I call this shot "Lil Teeny Peppers And Dog Nose".

I believe it to be the apogee of cutting-edge commentary, and I dare you to say otherwise.

This will be made into limited-edition prints as soon as I feel like it. If you would like to beg for one, I might get around to it a little sooner. But art like this takes it out of me.

Sharing The Luuuuuv

2009-12-16T09:15:00.000-06:00

This was Hanukkah two years ago.

I had just had a little day procedure that involved girlie innards, and was mooshing around the house, recuperating, and Sis Carol came up from Houston to make me chicken and dumplings.

This is Carol and Jerry working together in our kitchen, and it's still one of my favorite photos ever. It's a picture of two people who:

1. say they love me, and

2. act on it

That is something I'm still working on perfecting. Acting on it.

It's something a lot of you have shown me how to do- I've gotten bars of chocolate in the mail at difficult times. I've been sat down and talked to sternly when I've screwed up, because you knew I could handle it and have faith that I am better than that.

I have pushed the envelope of friendship over and over, and every time I get to the edge, you pop my leash and give me a cookie when I go belly-up.

This is a warm fuzzy for you all. I'm not learning "act on it" very quickly, but I ain't no Golden Retriever, you know.

I'm just me, grateful and constantly amazed by You People.

Happy Holiday Of Your Choice. Stay warm, safe, and if you feel little spirals of good will sparking off your ears, it's me. (Don't get too close to gasoline. That's also something I haven't perfected.)

We Just Don't Get Actual Snow

2009-12-11T13:58:00.000-06:00

It snowed the other day. Snowed in Dallas, snowed in Houston.

That might not mean much to you if you live Somewhere Else, but let me clue you in. It just does not "snow" here. It sleets. Oh, Yes! We get slush, frozen rain, sleet (and the weatherfolks attempt to convince us there is a difference, but I'm not buying it), ice, black ice, and muck, but almost never snow. PRETTY stuff that you can play in. Nope.

But there it was. Got up one morning, and flakes were coming down so hard it looked like an explosion at the styrofoam gin. Of course, it had been in the 50's for weeks prior to that, so it melted the second it touched earth. Nothing is more ephemeral than Texas snow.

Katie got outside to pee and was surprised as heck- she's not even two years old and so hadn't encountered the stuff. She might have explored it, but she was C-O-L-D, and by the next time she needed to go out, the magic was over. Gone. WHOOSH.

Our buddy Gail called that morning- said that Penny the Cairn was in hog heaven (a true Scot, Penny feels great in foul weather)- and she said that I needed to get pictures of Katie in the snow! Wouldn't that be fun?? I told her that I didn't know what was happening in Fort Worth, but in Dallas, the snow was already gone, and that I would have to Photoshop those pictures if I wanted them- Hah hah!! Oh, how we laughed! Because I do not know Photoshop.

But whaddya know?? Huh. Right after that, I did find a patch of snow left, and Katie posed for those shots that I know you will enjoy!! Here's the first one:

2009-12-11T13:56:00.000-06:00

Here is a picture of Katie in the snow.

Look how happy she is!

Katie just loves snow. She played and played and played. I couldn't get her to come inside. Nope, she just wanted to play in the snow.

Yessirree.

2009-12-11T13:19:00.000-06:00

Here is Katie in the snow again.

Look at her.

Isn't she adorable?

I'm so glad we all had this winter wonderland to share.

Happy Chanukkah!!!!

I Can't Trust You For One Lousy Week?!

2009-12-06T10:51:00.000-06:00

Hey!!

What th...??!!

I leave ArtGardenLife for seven days and y'all have taken over my whole plan for world domination? The carefully conceived and delicately balanced construct for my General Initiative for Mass Mental Elitism (GIMME) has, in one stinkin' week, been systematically and deliberately dismantled by You People, and has been replaced with Kitty And Bitch Overlords Obtrude and Manifest (KABOOM).

I've been busy. I've been working my tiny, perfect hands to the bone cooking up wine bottles and making them into little Christmas trees and gluing them onto candleholders. I do this in my small, cheerful attempt to make widows and orphans happy. These simple, hard-working folk see that these things are only ten bucks a pop, and the grateful smiles on their soot-smudged faces are all the reward I need, besides the ten bucks. I do this, and keep my poor darling Jerry supplied with clean socks, and the dog with entertainment, and buying slate on sale and tiling the sunroom with it, and I find out last night from a Reliable Source that, while I've been gone for one single measly week, that You All have been posting in the comments all about how I need to make all kinds of pet portraits for you! IN SERIES, for cryin' out loud. As in- more than ONE. And how these things should be titled, and how they should look and how I need to get started right away.

Well, PARDON ME. I see how things are! I'm not so obdurate that I cannot perceive mutiny in the ranks. You want revolution? You want less verbiage and more vision?? HUH? Yeah- just remember, People, you asked for it. You'll be up to your eyeballs in notecards, coffee mugs, posters, and whangdoodles before you can grab your wallets. "Jan!", you'll shout. "Stop it, already! We can't drink enough hot chocolate to fill all these damn mugs!"

I shall smile. I will be able to afford to on account of all the money rolling in. I'll have had my teeth professionally whitened. I shall smile, and my cute little wrinkles will be gone because I can now afford some dermabrasion, and maybe a little lift. "You do not have to buy mugs anymore", I shall say. "I'm starting a new line of Bitch Kitty Underwear. What sizes do you wear??"

Hah. Now you're trapped. Do not mess with me and my GIMME plans.