Happy Halloween!
October 31, 2007
Best wishes for a spooky, sweet evening of trick or treat.
Our internet - and phone - is down since Sunday so I can't post from home. Supposed to be fixed tomorrow.
Keep your fingers crossed!!
Best wishes for a spooky, sweet evening of trick or treat.
Our internet - and phone - is down since Sunday so I can't post from home. Supposed to be fixed tomorrow.
Keep your fingers crossed!!
Those envious of morning spent abed with books, needn't fear: within minutes of posting, Sister # 5 takes call waiting while talking, discovers Sister #2 calling with sore throat, 101 degrees, dying, needs meds, whence Sister #5 tells her to call Sister #3, moi, because lying abed with nothing to do.
Harrumph.
Morning now spent throwing The Teen out of bed with shrieking to hurry as must visit pharmacy, pick up sick food such as Ritz Crackers and Chunky Peanut Butter topped with Haagen Daaz vanilla bean ice cream and deliver to sick sister cross town. Teen must come due to lack of parking at sick sister's and three floor walk up. Oh, pouring rain all the while.
After Red Cross fly by, sagely decide to get on parkway to deliver The Teen as far across town as possible whilst remaining in said town, where she is to meet with other students and compose illustrated manual to guillotine chapter in A Tale of Two Cities, accompanied by ten-pack of Hershey bars and money for walk for pizza.
Parkway stalled, sodden mess. Left parkway, snake through local streets, meet detours and traffic cones along with fire engines that nearly cut car in two, and try not to let panic rise as Teen's mobile pings off every two seconds with texts of "Where are YOU?"
Bile in throat, got back on parkway, segued off, locked at directions, muttered "Sod!", got back on, crawled for a mile to next exit only to look once again at directions and realize had been within five minutes of avenue before got back on parkway. Doubled back, threw Teen out of car, drove 10 miles per hour all the way to hairdressers, noticed rain had stopped, only to downpour as soon as feet hit pavement.
Got in chair, realized my face looked like frumpy middle aged woman sans make up, shuddered to realize I am frumpy, middle aged woman avec makeup, and asked for an assymetrical bob a la Barbra 1970's and on twenty-something haircutter at next station. Italian dramatist of hairdresser complied, sighing deeply, took an extra half hour, necessitating extra tip, finally releasing me after two hours, whereupon deluge began again.
Came home, husband on floor with fireplace equipment strewn all over carpet, flashlight in hand looking up flue. Electrical wires strung everywhere, large packets from fireplace store with hefty receipts filling up all seating. Husband fiery, fireplace not. Discreet call to sister #5 who has electrician-spouse and settled in with beading of felt balls. Got up. Turned on every light in house to see hole in needle. Gave up.
Took hunking piece of beef out of waterbath, determined still frozen, no stew, but pot roast possible. Began browning in EVOO and sister #5 and hubby come in to smoke-filled rooms, ceiling fans on. Electrical issue addressed and corrected, expensive house call from fireplace store canceled, invite sister #5 and hubby for pot roast, convinced brothers in law to pick up beer, The Teen from group project, but first drive niece to party.
Managed dinner without burning pot roast, though giant rump of roast shrunk to piddling proportions after two hour braise in beer, almost burnt garlic toast, mashed potatoes without butter since used up on garlic toast, envied all drinking copious glasses of red wine, served coffee in lounge, watched outtakes from Abbot & Costello Meet Frankenstein.
Cleaned up kitchen, left pots to soak. Took Raffaela and The Gentle Arts to bed. Promptly fell asleep watching Carrie.
Woke up extra early. Complimented ourselves for early start, threw The Teen out of bed for early breakfast out. While Mr. Pom showers, begin pulling summer clothes out from wardrobe. Room now littered with clothes and bags. Throw on clothes. Note that asymmetrical cut now flat on head and find hideous. Get in car, still chuffed at early rise, look at car clock. Hour lost! Realize that electronic clock in bedroom was not informed that daylight savings was pushed back a week. We are now in mid-day. Realize that's why church bells all out of sync.
Determined to salvage day. Drive cross county. Get in traffic. Snake way past historic homes and Hudson River. Intent on reaching Sunnyside. Reach same. Traffic cop laughs, waves us forward into traffic. No on site parking. Usual surprise that thousand other people thought of Legend Weekend. Drive mile to off-site parking, see lines for school bus shuttles. Decide to soldier on and eat, going to Philisburg Manor instead. Congratulate ourselves for giving up headless horsemen for giant carved pumpkin display.
Have choice of Greek, Italian, Mexican, decide on American cafe. Hour later, determine food poisoning. Continue through traffic snaking alongside Hudson River. Need gas. Can't make left. Too much traffic. Bag Philispburg Manor.Drive cross county go to Borders for bathroom for food poisoning.
Take highway home, stop at paltry, pathetic roadside stand for Teen for pumpkin and donuts. Stay in car and read Summertime. Read all the way home. Get latte, collapse on bed, day over, internet out, phone out, Mother In Law Pom sick, needs groceries, Mr. Pom does second Red Cross fly by of the weekend, try not to feel guilty as I put on pajamas and read. Decide to be hero and get on phone with cable company. Necessitates many trips to answer questions re router, modem, discover have no knowledge which is which, after twenty minutes, follow directions to unplug modem for one minute. Problem solved. Maybe.
. Night falling. Weekend over. Kitchen still has pots soaking along with coffee cups and various snack plates from day. Laundry not done. Toilet running and won't stop. The Princess appears. Sick. Teen needs laptop to finish illustrated chapter. Mr. Pom in driveway with Princess re car antenna and voices raised. Calculate twelve hours left before newly set clock alarm will go off for work. Take to bed. Get out Rafaella and Gentle Art.
And So It Goes.*
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*With thanks to Raffaela who gets into mind and should never be read whilst trying to write.....
The first weekend since June that I have not either been madly working on art and writing assignments, teaching, getting ready to teach, or recovering from surgery. (OK, there was that week on the Cape....)
Instead of a big blue bowl of an October sky to play under, it's cold and wet and gloomy. And I'm exhausted, congested, and have to get my haircut. (Who wants a haircut if you have to come out in the rain?? Frizz!)
What's a girl to do?
Perhaps stay under the covers until mid-morning and . . .
(with thanks to Lazy Cow)
And maybe after breakfast, a little of this . . .
And at the hairdresser, I'll finally have time to do this . . .
And by nightfall, after Mr. Pom gets the fireplace in working order again, and we light the pumpkin candles, I'll sashay over here, and pick something for my personal Saturday Night Live.......
Book porn.
It's a good thing.
Could you say no to this lovely Aussie's smiling face?
Of course not.
So it was that I agreed a year ago to teach at a brand new retreat to be held in Connecticut. I hardly knew what I was getting into - it was so much more fun than I expected!
Miss Salli and Ellen were the wizards behind this production, which was not just for the celebration of all things art, but also to raise money for the fight against breast cancer.
The women in my class were extraordinary. They put up with moving classroom three times on the first day and then ended up working on a mezzanine in the hot, humid atrium. Other than asking for a fan to dry our paintings, they didn't complaint a whit!
This is one of the layered acrylic collages in the early stages.
The next day we were back in air conditioning and the ladies showed their appreciation by producing the most brilliant mixed media portraits!
This is Rita's interpretation of her mother Annabelle's black and white photo from the 50's. She captured her mother's likeness and cool demeanor to the "t". The luscious arm chair she is sitting in is a large sheet of the layered acrylic collages we did the day before.
Our sweet Lorraine did a watercolor of herself at age 4 from a black and white studio portrait and mounted it on another sheet of her acrylic collage.
Cathy is creating a watercolor collage based upon a photograph of her three daughters as small children enjoying a dress-up tea party in the garden.
The next day, some of our class left and some new students came. We had worked hard for two days and Sunday was for relaxing around the pool - no, not swimming, but sketching in our pastel paper journals.
Don't be fooled by Elizabeth's quiet and studious demeanor round the pool.
She did produce lovely journal pages,
but her true wicked spirit shone as she modeled one of the wild bras she created for the silent auction! Isn't she a treat?
I don't know the artist who designed this bra, but she's anything but shy!
It was a lovely retreat, filled with creative and inspiring women who weren't afraid to kick back after hours and laugh the night away. I hope I'm invited back next year. I was so moved by the generous sharing of spirit in my classes and the willingness and courage to bare their emotions with a group they'd just met. The healing power of art was never more apparent to me than on this weekend. I'm looking forward to teaching again - and if you would like me to come teach at your group, just let me know!
I saw it this weekend. It was life-changing. So many women in need of something more. So much happiness, so much pain, all waiting to be tapped with the point of a brush and the tip of a needle.
I'm crashing today, drinking coffee, wearing sweats, catching up on magazines, and beading felt balls which I bought way too many of.
Big bloggie post chock full of photos coming soon.
Yes, it is not Mother's Day and you've seen this photo before, but this is a representation of one-fifth of the stuff I have to pack for Artfest4 The Soul, which begins tonight.
Why oh why did I become a mixed media artist? I could be packing a slim sketchpad and a pack of colored pencils, but NO - I have three suitcases and one tote. The tote's for my clothes. The rest are filled with art supplies.
Now if you had signed up for my classes, this are some of the toys you'd get to play with:
But if you didn't, then wait for next year when we'll do it all over again.
In the meanwhile, Mr. Pom is charged with taking care of The Teen, who somehow is always sick when I go away. He camehome from work to take her to the doctor because I am running around like a chicken with its head cut off. On top of that, I pulled my back out over the weekend, so it's been a disorienting week of Mrs. Pom playing Mr. Pom with ice packs, muscle relaxers, and pillows for work.
Can't wait to get my hands dirty with gel medium and glazes. Hope your weekend is artfully spent wherever you are!
Here's a meme I stole from Blackbird, and put my own little twist on.
Using the letters of your name, list all things autumnal that tickle your fancy:
M - Moons pooled in orange, low against inky
black skies
R - Rising early because the tip of my nose is cold and the sun is crazy
swinging through my room, bouncing off of branches whipping in the
wind.
S - Smoke-tinged air, global warming be damned!
P - Pies Pies Pies, all things pie
O - Orbs that flood the greenmarket - apples, pumpkins, Italian eggplants,
walnuts, turban squash, & pomegranates (of course!)
M - Meadows filled with seed pods, skeletons of birth against the brilliant
blue October bowl of a sky
E - Edges of the day all purpley pink as dusk surprises us with its sudden
appearance and the sun flushes the sky for one last time.
G - Granite outcrops that glitter in the sun, giving a hard edge to our woods
and a warm place to sit when tired of apple picking.
R - Roads that lead to nowhere, but through dark woods, alongside reservoirs
where maples blaze twice in air and water.
A - All things apple; Macouns, Delicious, Honeycrisps, Jonagolds, Macintosh,
Paula Reds, Crispins, Braeburn, and Ginger Golds
N - Nesting in my house, pulling out my ceramic pumpkins, beeswax candles
quilts, woven throws, tiny prayerbooks in the wooden bowl, gourds,
baskets full of bittersweet, Indian corn drying on the windowsill, and
the last of the lavender tied up with a ribbon for the kitchen door.
A - Abundance of autumn spread across my table: grana padano cheese,
pine nut hummus, roasted red peppers, garlicky olives, peppery crackers,
slices of salami studded with fat, saucers of olive oil with freshly grated
pepper and, always, the crustiest of breads
T - Tea, which suddenly is crucial in the afternoon and teapots that have
sat neglected on shelves, and new boxes and tins of Earl Grey, Constant
Comment, and new, Spice Chai.
E - Enough of everything to fill my heart: Bright slashes of leaves like New
Year's confetti across the lawn, the last bursts of the delphiniums, and
late-blooming anemones, piles of pumpkins on the front porch, books
stacks that grow on the nightstand, cupboards full of new spices and
herbs, pillows tumbling on the floor, scarves multiplying on the hooks
by the front door, and family everywhere.
Now it's your turn: Invite me to see!
Afternoons of dusky light need tableaus to gaze upon. New squash varieties that pose as mottled green and blue pumpkins sit on the table like ottoman's hats. The wooden bowl unearthed from under a table in a dusty field warmly holds a variety of knobbed and gnarly gourds, all vying for color with the warm, rich hues of the rug. And autumn is the time for tea - a capacious blue and white bowl of a cup - a cup for a smoky Lapsang or even a floral Earl Grey. Posed as a painting that my fingers itch to create, there are snapshots of fall all round me.
There's nothing more the matter than time's fleeting pace. Like The White Rabbit, I am always late for something when all I long to do is lie on the lawn with the leaves or drive up and down the Hudson and take pictures of floating driftwood and maples trees aflame. I will be ready to abandon all reason in just ten days and plan to do nothing more than go to work - see how silly that sounds! - and read the books that have piled up on my night table and cook stews and bake cakes and go for walks and sew sew sew. What is about autumn that makes me want to sew?
But no complaining tonight. Tomorrow brings Baby Neve to visit us with her sweet parents and Sunday is immersion in the artwork I need to make in order to show my class how to do the same. So I am hoping for a brisk, bright day where I can sit at the window of my litle studio and spread deep, rich washes of fall's colors across thick white watercolor paper.
Spent
like a sunflower
whose head is in danger
of meeting the mower
Ravaged, bitten
pecked to death
Just to its head
to rest
Wilted, torn
dried up, scattered
Amost done!
That's all that matters
__________________________
Regularly posting will resume.....very soon!
Welcome, right this way to Autumn.
So what if it's 84 degrees and humid.
Globes of dusky purple wine attract bees and babies and soothsayers who predict alchemy in a cup.
It is the season for cabbages and kings.
Even the vegetables are outlandish and loud, silly roly-poly squashes that refuse to go away till long past Thanksgiving, overstaying their welcome, skirting the frost that will deflate them.
But the poor pumpkins are merely softballs against the giant zucchini bats. Rulers of the squash world, profligate, tumescent (there's that word again!), out of control, the steroids of the veggie world.
How many ways are there to eat their soft, yellow flesh?
Where is the outlandish in your life today? Have you worn your heart on your sleeve and let it fall amidst the leaves? Have you plumped up your joie de vivre, letting it swell like a raisin in champagne?
This is the first of my new category called "Wednesday Wanderings", a/k/a my brain is in my fried-from-work-mid-week slump. Hence, the Diane Keaton approach:
Remember the heady days of spring, when you ran free without shoes to feel the new grass on your toes? The air shimmied with blossoms and the wild green of pollen.
You seeded and sowed and planted and transplanted and dug and weeded and watered and tended and potted and repotted and fed and burped raked.
Potted plants seemed so smart at the time - less digging and weeding, and they're portable and easier to water. Frequent trips were made up and down the road to the nursery, filling the boot of the car with herbs, and flowers, and plants of all kinds that you lovingly tucked into planters and pots.
Now, in the golden light of autumn, after a verdant season of growth and bloom, you are rewarded with glorious overstuffed, blowsy tubs of mature plants. That tangled, wild, very English look of plants just this side of wild abandon. Lusty plants, relaxed plants, tumescent plants.
And what the hell are you going to do with all of them before the first frost?
I call this the palazzo garden. Mr. Pom calls it the plants in the driveway. Neither of us have any idea of where they are going to go.
This is The Wall O'Coleus that is right outside the screened porch. I am so going to root branches of this. Yes I am. Yep, I will. And I'm not going to forget and run screaming outside after the first frost. Nope. My neighbor down the street already has stems of her coleus in vases to root. Show off.
This is the big planter filled with nasturtiums. If you haven't grown nasturtiums, do it next year. They are so easy to grow and fill up your pots with lots of happy, colorful leaves and flowers. So much so, they are hiding the rosemary that is nestled in the middle and the strawberry plant that comes back each year. I haven't had any luck with overwinter rosemary, except the first year we moved. And I haven't had any luck with bringing it inside either.
The plant to the left of the chair, the one on top of the upended pot, is plumbago. When we bought it, we were overwhelmed by the ones at the garden center. They were 8 feet tall and tied against fences and even onto an old, vintage truck. I intended to plant it alongside the white fence, but now my dear friend, Miss GardenGertie has informed me that it is a tropical plant and that she can rarely get it to overwinter in Virginia Beach. So my question is: how did the garden center get it to grow to 8 feet in June if it doesn't winter over? Guess where we'll be going this Saturday to ask just that?
Isn't this gorgeous? I don't have the slightest idea what it is. If anyone knows, please leave me a comment. How do you like the table that Mr. Pom and I grabbed out of the trash down at the rich people's neck of town?
I do refuse to lose this variegated sage. It's so sweet and pretty and fragrant. I'm going to transplant half of it into the garden by St. Francis and let him worry about it.
Frank's done okay with this sage so far.
Now if Mr. Pom would only agree to turn the screened porch into a sunroom, I wouldn't have to say good to my pretties. We really don't have any window space for them, unless I move Mr. Pom's dresser into his closet and put the santolina and geraniums in front of the French doors in the bedroom. Hmm, perhaps that would tip him right over to the sunroom idea. I just wish he'd stop saying, "Show me the money!" Geesh.
This is the only plant I have room for inside. And maybe the frog. As long as he's quiet.