So Small

It's small, but this is me and my cousin Kara, my mom, my auntie Sarah, My grandmother, Erma Beth, and my great grandmother, Georgia. Gramma George.

And our dog, Josephine. Four generations is an incredible thing.

Up North

In Vermont, this is a new thing.

BS

'nuf said.

Chicken

These things are pretty beautiful. This doesn't capture how green their eyes are.

When Jesse hears me talking to other girls I think all he hears is, "braaaaaaak, brak brak bock".

A joke I came up with: "The chickens are all real left wingers; every time I confront them about the state of the garden, they just say, 'Baraaaaaak', as though it's all that needs be said."

I am really good at coming up with ground-breaking jokes, by the way.

Not at all.

Sweet Hearts

Another dog clock. Totally piercing.

Love

This is me and Jesse before our show at the Iron Horse. He bought a suit thing at goodwill for the occasion. I changed shirts 4 times. And we were sitting there, all ready, ready to go wait somewhere, as usual. It's such a stressful couple of hours. You're ready, and you just want to: GO! but, you can't, so you wait.

The Secret Life of Cinderblocks, Part I

I saw a man pursuing the horizon. I told him, "you can't--" "No!" he roared, And ran on. --Paraphrased from something I once read

The Secret Life of Cinderblocks, Part II

Amazing--the small worlds all around us. Galaxies on motes of dust, and this is the pull out view. And it is the abandoned-looking front porch steps.

Foghorn Leghorn

Peas peas please peas appease some pea-diddly-dees! PPPP P Peas!!

The Artist Formerly Known as “The Yellow Teapot”

Well, folks, that's about the long and short of it. I can't wait to see it up. I always thought the old sign looked tiny. Oooh. The world is full of optical illusions. Maybe just plain old illusions.

Violence

The other day we had moved the chicken tractor to the garden. Jesse's been doing a bunch of stuff out there, and we had been putting up the fence around the garden. I'm thinking about the chickens giving us eggs, pooping beneficially and also doing some much-needed mowing. I'm thinking about the vegetable bounty to come, and the tiny sprouting calendula doing their journey thing, and then. . . . THEN. . .
Our neighbor comes out of his trailer and walks across what used to be a yard and is now a parking lot dedicated to his collection of junky pieceashit cars. He’s talking on his phone and he’s carrying, no, setting down, a few cardboard pieces and a bunch of Styrofoam packing, and, what’s this? He’s setting fire to it!
Great plumes of black smoke belched from the burning chemicals. Jesse and I just looked at each other and shook our heads. Jesse likes to comment on peoples’ stupidity loudly, and in this case, I hope that stupid man heard.

How can that happen when the information is impossible to miss?

Moon

Moon in Virgo--that's me, Sun in Pisces--that's Jesse. Books on the subject say of this combination in a relationship, "Run Away!"

But it's very hard to run away from a man whose flaws are (barely) outnumbered by his more lovely qualities. And he's just a sight for sore eyes, even when I haven't had relief from him and his ways for days days days.

I was looking at some emails at about 10:36 pm on March 10th and I opened one that said, "the full moon in Virgo will appear at 10:37 pm on March 10th. Well! I ran outside and the sky was clear and the moon was beaming down on me and it and the universe are doing this thing to me--marrying me to a more difficult, more rewarding series of events, and I have not been fighting it. Which is good, because if I had I would be seriously, multifacetedly, black and blue now.

So, I raised my arms to the sky, trying to imbibe the SHEER POWER (Believe it or not), and I smelled the damp earth and then this f'ing dog who comes around, I call him Todd, started barking, and I was like, "Shut up Todd!" and he did. And I turned my attention back to the silvery moon, and it was good.

American Gothic with Camaro in Background

I am so excited about our garden this year. I built that little greenhouse in December and we have radishes, mustard greens, micro-greens and spinach in there. And we got some chickens for whom Jesse built a sweet little chicky tractor. And wonderful Molly Dodge came over with a load of mulch and made many of our dreams of deep rich dark beautiful soil come true. Thanks to Betsy and Molly for helping us spread it all around. And for bringing the poop of many chickens.

Personally. . .

When wondering what materials I wanted to work with in my "career", I thought along the lines of some gloriously pigmented scratch-goo; papers and syrupy paint; wire; fire; decibles, perhaps. The very furthest materials from my mind were plastic, excrement, adult rash ointment, chocolate smelling lotion, pollygrip. I mean, that's still the case, but I've been working with extremely old people lately as part of a class I'm taking. This is an experience that forces me to picture the childhood and adult versions of these stick figures who now need feeding and bathing and compare those ghosts to my current self. Simultaneously, quietly, hesitatingly, it's pushing the question: will my mind someday turn traitor and leave me with only a whistle and a moan? My body Benedict Arnolding me, becoming tiny, shriveled, creaking audibly? No. I suppose not. I mean, I really can't imagine it. I'm sure not.
Many are so confused I have to wonder what reality they are seeing and reacting to. It's certainly different that mine, which may or may not be correct. I only wish they could make the best of altered reality. Maybe that's the whole shame.
When I leave the facility, I look around at people on the street, in the grocery store—there are actual babies out there—and I'm screaming in my mind, "LOOK AT HOW YOUNG AND VERILE WE ARE!! WE'RE ABSOLUTELY DAZZLING!"

A rose, is a rose, is a. . . rose.

Unusual tongue

Well, I've decided that there is no god beside Haribo. They're just better. They're. . . somehow, gummier? And mostly things are not the same old crap. Newness is so good for this old gal. I'm aging. As are you, but I'm going about 5 years a day now. I'm 109 right now.

Dog Clock

A clock, and there’s a watercolor painting of a dog in it.

Glasses

Well, don’t I look smart. This is the first step to personalizing this blog. I thought it was professional to have just artwork on it, but it’s not as fun. I want to have something interesting, but not quite a journal. Yet, what is one to say? We rent. I have a greenhouse, my spinach babies are not going great guns, and we have no money. NO Money. Just, like none. I don’t know what we’ll do. Not a pity, we’ll figure it out. The state of “poor” well, t’aint so bad really. Makes you think about what you really need, do you need it? Is something free just as good? My former cheapness has been amplified (as impossible as that must seem) and, darn it, I don’t mind. Just look at these glasses—they were free!

So sweet

Other things: Ever hear of this Saturn returns thing? Maybe too out-there for some people. I don’t care, I say, if it seems to make sense, then why not take a little something from it.
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We just watched Kung fu Panda and Jesse just karate chopped me and I thought I erased this whole thing, but it turns out that a little edit, undo corrected the whole incident.

I love this little guy. Such a Cutie.

I can’t wait to start the waitressing season again!! This is inside-head-idea-modification. I can’t wait!!! I can’t wait to wait! So soon I’ll be serving lovers Valentine’s meals, oh it will be so romantic. So romantic.
Yes!!!! I’m going to be bringing food to people!!!! YES!!!!
And, working at a resident care facility!!!!!! I will meet wonderful people who happen to be very old or with not-so-working bodies, and I can’t wait to meet them and take care of them. Actually, I really can’t. I have an easier time thinking of that than of –Starting the waitressing season (!!!!!!!!!) Weddings!!!! Oh weddings, and dinner service!!!!!!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!! SALT AND PEPPER!!!!! SPOONS!!!!!!!!
Hey, it all boils down to T I P S! And those are good things. I am a geisha. That is my goal. The elegance, not the sexual favors.

clock dogs

There's all this stuff. I've been wondering if I should make the blog into something a little more personal.

Well, it’s the dead of winter here. That means 55 degrees and a lot of rain. Everything’s brown, you know what I mean. I am taking a class where I learn to wash my hands.

Today, disaster. Kitten disaster. She was in the music room, fucking around with everything as usual, and she tipped over a piece of bead board, which tipped over onto my guitar on it’s stand, and then pushed the guitar over onto a chair a la Million Dollar Baby, and my baby broke her neck. Clean off. If Jesse’s bass hadn’t met the same fate just one month ago I would think less of it, but as it is, I feel jinxed. Maybe this house just can’t stand us being here all the time. I don’t know. But, it’s expensive. I know that. Oh, she rang like silver and she shined like gold, and she shook it.
But she won’t for a while. Oh it makes me sick.
And, my instant messenger won’t work. I was trying to talk to my cousin, and it pooped. WOE IS Me. Oh mercy, woe is me.
I kid. Everything’s as beautiful and magical as it used to be.

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