Flesh and Bone

and now to end the year with something completely different...

2008-12-31T09:43:00.002-05:00

Benefits of being Married to a Facebook Slut:

2008-11-20T15:48:00.005-05:00

a detail of a painting by a friend who paints faces but is not into facebook

This morning Mr. dd seemed to be particularly interested in addressing a long standing leak in our master bath, such as it is. This is not like him. I reminded him I will be away over the weekend and I didn't want to come home to a flood on the first floor.

He announced that he now has excellent instructions because he posted in his Facebook update an announcement that he wanted to know how to repair a bathroom leak. SIXTEEN people responded with detailed comments that described how he might approach remedying the situation. I was dumbfounded and VERY amused since Mr. dd doesn't know the difference between an allen wrench and vice grips. It's not his thing. He is a man of words and action - as in acting and writing... not home repair. I had a good laugh, though.

It was even funnier, I thing - because I am in the middle of David Sedaris' "Engulfed in Flames" and sometimes I think I may have married a straighter version of Mr. Sedaris. Both make me laugh out loud and during the past eight years humor has made my life much richer than home repair. While our economy is being flushed down the toilet is seems like humor may be our greatest asset!

a mouse in the cat house

2008-11-19T08:55:00.004-05:00

Our two cats - who hate each other - were both corraled around the base of our dining room table this morning. Hmmm. Something was up. I found a torch and bent over to investigate... crawling on my hands and knees to get a good look. Aha! A mouse was surrounded by my two growling felines. Good, I thought. These two are finally earning their keep!

Premature assumption. Flan would stick her fat paw under the table pedestal and the mouse would run out the other side. Miro would bat at it but let it go. Do I have to do everything myself? I grabbed a paper towel and swooped down and caught the mouse in my cupped hands.

Mr. dd unlocked the gate in the back and walked it down the alley and dropped it in a recycle container. With any luck it found a new home at a recycling center on the edge of the city. The cats didn't even realize it was gone. Miro and Flannery were both observing the pedestal table with great intensity. Sad but true.

Facebook Politics

2008-11-18T09:34:00.003-05:00

Mr. dd is a facebook slut. He has over 800 friends so I think he can't be very discriminating! Still...

This am I crank up my sizzling laptop (it really sizzles like its shorting out - please help(!) and I log into FB to discover a friend request from a once ubercool trustafarian* artist friend who has collaborated with Annie Sprinkle and who dated all the coolest dudes before she married, had a kid and moved to NYC or the Hamptons or wherever. Happy to know she is still kicking and that her daughter looks even more impish than her.

Mr. dd walks in the door and I ask "Guess who asked me to be their friend?" He answered immediately the name of another aquaintance who we've both been ignoring on FB due to their stranger than fiction and generally annoying character. And I said, no, not that person. And Mr. dd said well I just got another message from"THAT person" saying friendship is only "one click away!"

I laughed and laughed and laughed since this person we've been ignoring on FB truly has no boundaries (especially after their sex change operation)... and who will say anything to anybody regardless of the consequence. (a little too wreckless for my taste) so I continued laughing and almost became the FB friend of said aquaintance for giving me such a good laugh in the morning. Still something to consider.....

Then I said "No...so and so wants to be my friend(!) and is actually considering getting a real job" and Mr dd said "well that says something about the economy"... He's so funny. I guess that's why everyone wants to be Mr. dd's friend.

*trustafarian is Mr. dd's name for all the people we know who live off their trust funds. He said we should hire our trustafarian friend to clean our house and document it as a performance piece. Not a bad idea if we could pay her in books and art.... if only!

bad boy karma

2008-10-28T18:19:00.006-04:00

I have a friend who is divorced and sharing custody of her child with his father. She is a lovely, creative independent pisces. She has been divorced long enough to have had her heart broken once or twice and has broken a few on her own. She's lonely. Aren't we all, in a universal sort of way?

Nothing confounds me more than needy sagitarian men who choose to hook up with women like my friend. She has been through half a dozen and knows better than to fall for their charms...

At present a known 57 year old bachelor who is attempting to court her - someone who has had a reputation of being a dog for close to 20 years... the freelancing handyman. What can I say? He's attractive. He wants something. He's trailing her and paying a great deal of attention. She has accepted his favors even though she knows the score. She says one thing to me and does another. I am worried about her. I have begged her not to go out with him and she promised to call me after she did go out with him... and today I had a realization...

I sound just like one of the bar staff at Merlotte's warning Sookie to stay away from the Vampire! Alright, already....the warnings may make him seem more desirable so I am zipping it from this point... but I don't think I'll have an ear for anymore heartbreak of the sagitarian/pisces variety.... so - all I can do pray she'll see the light before any harm is done.

I already know the score with Bill and Sookie - I've read the books and every word of the writing on the wall... Unlikely romances are lovely encounters until they are difficult... and, well, Vampire Bill comes with over 100 years of extra heavy baggage.

Just a little bit closer..... Happy Halloween

2008-10-28T09:05:00.005-04:00

and we'll be voting one of Liberty's spikes right through this old Vamp's heart... although before I saw this depiction of George Bush as a vampire I assumed he was just plain old heartless. We'll know soon enough... in a week, but likely more. A clean, trouble free election would be a bizarre antidote after 8 years of septic shock.

Evcry time we visit Fangtasia I look for this image hanging behind the bar. If anyone knows its origins please share. I had to have it to commemorate the end of a tragic period in democracy that will follow a glorious Halloween. Even if they steal the election again ANYTHING would be better than the past eight years and everyone suspects that things could get much worse before they get better. I hope we're all wrong for those people who've already seen the worst... those in New Orleans and all along the gulf coast...

in the meantime below you'll find a preview to all the Fangtasia parties happening on Friday night....

True Blood plays with this notion in subtle ways. The poster in the bar... lady luck is a sad, tragic neighbor to one of the murdered fangbangers... its all campy commentary on world that has become as Gothic as Charlaine Harris' storyline.

In the meantime wear silver, don't let strangers into your home and remember that even though we love True Blood we can't afford to be sympathetic to Vampires who vote Republican.
I wonder how Eddie would vote if he weren't the victim of that bohemian drainer and her accomplice Jason?

More true bloody confessions

2008-10-24T00:55:00.005-04:00

I must confess the grim romance Bill and Sookie have initiated in the televised version of their world has become a bit tiring. Where is the fun? With Halloween so close at hand a RHPS clip seems timely and an ideal counter to Sookie's inexperience. Malcolm and his gang seem to echo the sentiments here on occassion though the True Blood soundtrack is always - oh, so noir compared to R.H!

I love it, don't get me wrong, but this time of year I am reminded of how much I love and needed this film and its soundtrack back when I was a bit younger than Sookie.

It is easy to imagine that Bill could be a Rocky Horror fan since he is into science fiction/alien films in the book. I guess I'll just have to imagine Sookie singing Janet's parts between now and Sunday night at 9pm. Fast forward and perhaps Eric could play the roll of Rocky! Now that would be a hilarious reenactment to counter the vampire civil war reenactors that were humorously referred to in another blog.

Rocky Horror made its way all over the world... like I am sure True Blood will do. It even made its way to my living room in 1982... before it was on VHS, much less DVD or Netflix! I was introduced to the LP by a young Australian who hung out at the University pool where I worked as a lifeguard. He was very cute and straight, very aussie and independent in this thinking... as well as a pilot at a very young age. The film was shown on campus one weekend and I managed to borrow it and the projector (!!!) for a party at my house. I knew the right people at the right time in those days.

It was the last big party of my undergrad years since it took me the rest of the semester to recover. We danced until dawn and every single thing that could be thrown or sprinkled from my kitchen pantry was on the hardwood floors of that house... flour, noodles, rice, galore. The landlord was a sweet guy, too. I feel bad about it now. Never rent to students... between the demands of my 21 credit hours, three jobs, grad school applications and the social life of a 21 year old, well domesticity wasn't even on the burner.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show gives me just as much joy now as it did then. I guess True Blood is the perfect post millennial escapism. I just need an antidote... and of course there is no antidote for V!

The clip above is one of the most controversial scenes of late. It always surprises me when an audience doesn't know the difference between Gothic and Science Fiction, Fantasy and reality. Its a genre-bending series... with passion, humor, history, tragedy and comedy...

Its all in the timing

2008-10-16T14:33:00.006-04:00

I've just returned home from the Delta. I can't stress how important it is for an artist to return home to their native land once in awhile... it isn't easy - but the payoff is always there if one is open to it.

Sources are so primordial. It all goes back to wandering in the cotton fields when I was so little they towered like trees above my head... and cicadas... and even mosquitoes! I spent a great deal of time dreaming about Bill and Sookie while heading up and down back roads that haven't changed much in close to 100 years.... certainly not in 50... and I wondered WHY am I so obsessed with these Charlaine Harris characters? I am not convinced in the power of pop culture, Dark Shadows and all that.... but still... when I read TODAY that Charlaine was born in 1951 in Tunica, MS, well - now I KNOW. She went to college at Rhodes in Memphis and it is one of the creepiest, surreal cities anywhere - that's not to say I don't love it, in a strange, comforting way... but it isn't American in many ways, anymore than Louisiana.

So, Charlaine, your characters feel like family to me... and now I know why. I thought I might be going through some close to mid-life obession but its just homesickness... and the strange life that an outsider lives amongst the natives. My mom reminded me of how horrible the mosquitoes were - (I had a recurring nightmare as a child that I was being crucified on a cross in that box of mosquites that was featured in the OFF commercials of the day...) so maybe my obsession with Bill the Vampire somehow relates to THAT??? An art historian or shrink could have a field day with that one.

The drawing above is a portrait of Mr dd. No, he doesn't look like Bill the Vampire but I realized recently that one of the first, most compelling things he professed to me during our passionate courting days: "I am Yours, You are Mine." That was a first.

I never waited tables but I always knew the score. I was never seriously interested in those Delta Boys because I think I feared they would take my life away, tie me down and I'd never see the world. Mr. dd and I met each other at the right time and the right place, otherwise, well, there is no telling what part of the world I'd be hanging my art in.

Now I go back and I cherish those Delta Haunts for their resonance... I wound up at Po-Monkey's last Saturday night... a place I visited with a bunch of girlfriends and nere-do-wells (sp?) afterhours way back in the mid 70's. I was maybe 16. I had no idea where we were or if I'd made a mistake hanging out with these night owls who only wanted to drink MORE beer with hopes of getting into our pants. Instead our car broke down and we sat in the dark on a gravel road singing pop songs all night.

I spent last Saturday with a view an the Indian Mound Bayou from my window and wishing Mr. dd was there to experience the wonder that is the Delta. A friend from my youth and I walked through the soybean fields and picked up pottery shards and I realized today they are likely made from the same clay that Lee McCarty has used for 50 years.

2008-10-15T11:55:00.000-04:00

a little taste

2008-09-30T18:01:00.001-04:00

fictional confessions

2008-09-29T15:59:00.005-04:00

Life has been far more complicated than I prefer. The demands of those who do not know what they ask of me have worn thin over the past six months and I am losing interest in honoring commitments that don't seem nearly as important as I once thought they might me.

I am not referring to my marriage or my art... but all the other things that take my mind and imagination away from my current vice and recent closet obsession.... True Blood. Mr dd says he's never seen me like this.

The last time my heart beat so excitely in response to a TV SHOW (eek!) was when, as a small child, The Beverly Hillbillies was broadcast. As soon as the Earl Scruggs intro began my siblings and I were jumping up and down like it was Christmas Eve. Later, as puberty was having its way Dark Shadows lured me away from my homework every weekday afternoon.

Why, I ask myself? What is it? Why can't I get enough of this? I watch it on demand whenever I have mindless tasks to complete, over and over again. When I am away from cable I've been reading the Charlene Harris books Allan Ball based the series on. Better to read them now than after hearing Allan Ball's script... Charlene is a better story teller than writer but who wants to be compared to Allan Ball? He lured me to the table so I'll blame him.

In the meantime this is my worst excuse for neglecting my blog. Life has been erratic, stressful and demanding of late. True Blood gets me though the week. I don't read fiction on a regular basis because if I really love something I can't put it down. It's something I usually save for airports, rail travel, ect. Mr dd isn't accustomed to me having my nose stuck in a book so now the tables are turned! (He's usually the one hiding out with his face either in a book.) Writing or reading, its still tough competition!

If you haven't tried True Blood you' d better not. It might be more than you can say no to.
Anna Paquin and Stephen Moyer chomp the small screen...

flan flan's life lessons

2008-08-22T11:34:00.006-04:00

This is not the flan! I discovered this photo somewhere on the "internets"
awhile back and had to save it because it captures something tragic, yet true
about our relationship with cats. I must confess if our cats did this
we wouldn't share the same roof with them. We'd be forced to hire them out
as "hit kitties" to earn their keep and pay their own rent.

Flannery has been out all morning. I looked and looked out the window and did not see her. After a long while I began to worry so I went out and looked at her line more closely and realized she was looking down at me from the garage roof! She climbed the tree, you see - and was very proud of herself. I tugged a little at the line and realized that she was very tangled and could kill herself if she tried to come down the way she went up.

I began climbing the garage ladder to fetch her and she soon became excited and started to make her way down the tree. Soon she was hanging from her line with her claws clutching the mimosa for dear life #7 or 8... so I climbed up on the roof and reeled her in like a big furry fish.

She was purring like a maniac.

I guess our cats really do need us since the more freedom we give them the greater chance they'll find trouble. Maybe that's the problem with this nation. We've had so much freedom and
discovered so much trouble that we've buried ourselves in our own excess. I hope I am wrong.

1991ish

2008-08-12T08:04:00.002-04:00

I haven't been spending as much time in front of my blog this summer as I would like. Between my sprained ankle and a stiff neck I've been a bit of a mess. Sunday morning someone I met in 1978 telephoned to say she was in town. Aha! Everything was better!

Mr dd and I met she and her godson at the pool and, like always, time seemed to stand still. She emailed me this video this morning. I do not know the circumstance but in conversation that evening her God son, the kid on the keyboard, told us he found it posted on Youtube. He is now an anthropology grad student.

Why is it so shocking to see this video (?)... because it is so 1991(?)... so foreign to the time when I knew her(?) So many things changed between 1978 and 1991 that it hurts my brain to think about and it hurts... and delights.... my eyes to witness it here. I am charmed and yet horrified(!)... we were young... and now we are much less so.

some things never change

2008-07-17T02:14:00.001-04:00

fading light

2008-07-16T20:35:00.003-04:00

As I listen to cicadas fade in and out through the window behind my head I am thankful that the weather has been fairly kind to us this year. The mosquitoes seem to be as brutal as ever but the temperature is softer... warm to hot in the afternoons and cooling off most nights. We haven't turned on our AC this season which allows me sit here surrounded by two open windows with content cats perched in them.

My laptop is the warmest and brightest thing here as the light fades outside. This quiet time is something I cherish.

Are you the child of Tom Waits?

2008-07-09T13:27:00.003-04:00

Tom Waits is touring this summer to promote his new CD "Glitter and Doom." I'll miss seeing him so I thought I'd post this to honor his journey from there to here.

foliage

2008-07-06T21:08:00.006-04:00

One of the few things on earth that comes between mr dd and I may surprise you: vines. Not vineyards... no... although he probably wouldn't be excited about the prospect of taking care of vineyards or growing them against the side of our house - like they do in Germany and France.

I've realized of late that there may be some history here.... because I grew up with an ancient wisteria bush beside our house. It bloomed every year and the base of the plant consisted of vines as thick as a tree trunk. It was an amazing specimen that wrapped itself around an old swingset that hadn't been used for several generations.

My father ran amuck at some point while I was away at university... probably dealing with issues of control... but I can't remember if it was before or after my Mom left home... the result was he had the wisteria vine and most everything else growing on that side of the property taken out. It appalled me to discover this and there was nothing that could be done. I couldn't cry or pout or yell. I just accepted the fact that he would never "get" why I was so upset. NOW, I worry that mr dd is much the same. We go round and round over the Virginia Creeper and whenever I am away he'll pull it down. Virginia Creeper is a desirable decorative vine that gardeners CULTIVATE in Europe and train to cover their property. It is perhaps more desirable than ivy since it doesn't attach as strongly and work its way into grout.

SO - while I worked in Germany last month I photographed every building, ancient or new, which featured trained ivy or creeper and would email them to mr dd - who loves all things german and french. All of my neighbors poo poo my love of the vine - and strangers feel compelled to tell me how "bad" it is for the structure of our home and I just look at them and want to ask them where they live and how old their house is.

One of the highlights of the 4th of July happened when we arrived at a cookout to see the side of the hosts' home covered with ivy.... a host who mr dd has a great deal of respect for...(!)
I said, "sweetheart, please come over here, I want to show you something!"
He walks over and lean my head toward the wall. He looks and says: "Ivy." I said yes, "Ivy!"
The wife of host walks over and asks what is wrong and said - "oh, everything is right!" and I explained our vine dilemna. She said mr host had researched it and as long as the ivy doesn't get into your woodwork the house is fine... mr dd said: "Oh."

I love discovering simple pleasures in unexpected places!

Prologue

2008-07-02T09:17:00.001-04:00

flashback

2008-07-02T07:46:00.003-04:00

Scary, huh. It's hard to believe this is real but I've often to found the truth to be must stranger than fiction and rarely in need of embellishment. One of the first pronouncements I remember coming out of my father's mouth was in regard to the events depicted below. We were sitting at the dinner table. It must have been summer since there was light streaming in the window while we were forced to eat our vegetables.

I was on one end of the table and my Dad on the other. I don't remember the previous conversation that led to this but he proclaimed there would be no more Beatles cartoons in his house. "Why?" I asked. He answered: " They claimed they were better than Jesus Christ!" (I may have been in the first or second grade... ) "Ooooh," I answered.

This stuck with me for a long time. I was the eldest and one of those children who worked very hard to please my parents.... until the age of 12 or 13. The tides turned quickly, much to my father's dismay. When one realizes that the response for everything they ask for will be NO, well, one just quits asking. My solution? I determined that if I made good grades I could do whatever I wanted as long as I didn't ask. I played a lot of Beatles, did my homework to "The Tomorrow Show" with Tom Snyder... and pretty much anything else.

C'est la vie.

Lessons Learned

2008-07-01T12:50:00.000-04:00

What I'd love to be doing....

2008-07-01T12:33:00.002-04:00

I watched this many times without the music and LOVED it. For some reason the soundtrack is just sappy. What a great way to spend a year or so - dancing all over the world.

Twist of Fate

2008-06-25T11:36:00.004-04:00

I witnessed this outside my door in Bavaria. I have a thing for the snails there and it inspired me to learn a few things about them. The can live 10 - 15 years... and when they mate, as they are doing here, each snail gets pregnant and has baby snails. My, how the world would be different if the same were true of humans.

Yesterday began with positive steps toward the future.
I paid my bills, returned a deposit, addressed a long standing debt, did hard labor on a property I share with two other artists and returned my contracts for my summer classes.

Ahhh.. and timing is everything. The director of the program wasn't in so I asked the security guard if I could slide it under her door. Fine, she said. After making my way to the staff offices I decided to take a peek at the current show and was looking at some printworks when I heard voices behind me. It was the staff returning from their lunch. Oh, so good to see you, I chimed. I turned in my contract and wanted to inquire about fall classes.

Ah, I am sorry but I am all booked up for the fall, director said... I said, really? Nothing? (I've been away but have tried to keep up with these essential matters via email.)

Well, it seems, she said So and So, my boss, doesn't want me to use you anymore. She's really mad because you missed those classes earlier this year. But I was at a funeral, I explained. "Oh, there was something else, another class. She doesn't want me to include you on the schedule.
I know it is terrible about your sister but there is nothing I can do. She runs the program. Please don't mention it to her or call her. You've always done good work for me and I'll try to introduce you again at a later date."

I was in tears at this point, hurridly wiping them away. I love teaching in this program, you see. I do. It pays better than anywhere else and has a certain amount of cache. I've been teaching there longer than ten years. Normally when someone loses a family member their employer sends a letter of condolence or flowers. Here you lose your job.

I neglected to cancel the class, you see. I was in a state of shock...
but it doesn't matter. I am not sure I will want to work for them anymore anyway... I guess I am tired of being kicked around but I don't really know what to do with these feelings... hence the time I am investing sharing them here.

Its always this way, tho. I return from something wonderful... have an experience that gives me hope... and possibilities... and then return home to be kicked in the stomach by my boss. It happens over and over so it must be me. Perhaps I just need to be a farmer or have my own business. I don't play politic very well. I can do it but it is not my forte, obviously.

When I returned from my sabbatical and then a near fatal car accident back in the mid 90's (I cracked several vertebrae, ribs and fractured my hip) the director of the program I was teaching in told me stories my students had shared with him (that I got high with other faculty from another university... not true... europeans roll their own cigarettes) and other things he knew would hurt my feelings. He was angry that I had been away, had a wonderful experience and then came home and had to take sick leave to recover from this accident. He was a small man. A very small man. And of course I was disappointed in the students. I shared something with them that meant a great deal to me... working in a place I loved... and they were just rotten spoiled, to the core.

C'est la vie.
Art and family are the only things that matter to me.

4:30 am

2008-06-21T09:17:00.002-04:00

Football and Art

2008-06-20T10:10:00.000-04:00

A garden behind the Alte Pinakothek in Munich.

If Americans could experience good art and football in such close proximity perhaps life would be different for American artists. The view is a beautiful there.

A few international opportunities can be found here.

Another thing I love about Europe is the rail system. This train is headed toward Regensburg from Munich. I am sure it was on the tracks back in 1985 when I first traveled to Germany. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, right?

Rail travel isn't cheap anymore but it is much cheaper than driving and there are many discounts and passes available for those who know how to utilize them. I am a quick learner since I love to GO when I am in Europe. There is much to see and friends to catch up with. I probably would have spent a day or two in Berlin but I had art to finish and the inevitable time invested in packing and weighing my luggage, striving to bring home bier for Mr. dd and my investment in flashe paint. It wasn't easy and the process is so stressful that I am ALWAYS happy to be home.

Emergency Measures

2008-06-15T11:22:00.009-04:00

This self-portrait was created upon my arrival in Germany during mid May.
I wish I looked half a relaxed now as I did then.

I've spent my life expanding the world I live in. Maybe a childhood in the Mississippi Delta makes one expect wide horizons? I saved my allowance at the age of 12 or so to create my first adventure. I flew to Chicago at the age of 13 by myself. I am almost a travel addict and will jump at the chance to work overseas.

My first European adventure occured in 1985 when one could fly to London for $200. and the exchange rate was so good that an unemployed post graduate could live off $10 - $15. dollars a day in most any city in Europe - especially if one had a couch to crash on - my favorite being Schaumi's. I missed many trains, nearly shipped my return ticket home by accident and gave many Brits and Europeans good cause for laughter due to my inexperience and willingness to try new things.

Experience is the best teacher... but sleep deprivation erases the best laid plans! Normally I xerox my passport and all travel documents, credit cards, etc... for peace of mind. (Being responsible for students or kids makes one a much savier traveler.) I've never had to rely on these measures but came so close yesterday that I had visions of living off my lunch time rashions at the Munich airport much like Tom Hanks in The Terminal. Yesterday was a long day for me and although my ducks were swimming in a watery row I thought I might have to visit the American consulate before I could return to American soil.

We order a taxi to pick my up at 4:15 am. I was nervous that the taxi would be late. I have a problem with pre-departure anxiety and insomnia... plus I travel with luggage at maximum capacity since they've lowered the weight limits... but then the limit doesn't matter. I am always there.

With such an early departure and the anticipation of jet lag I just stayed up that night. There was plenty to do with checking the weight of my luggage over and over and a feeble attempt to pack the Kneitinger and Weltenburger bier I wanted to bring home for Mr dd. How could it survive being checked in my luggage? I visited both breweries during my time in Bavaria and had high hopes I could share at least the taste of these places with my beloved.

The taxi arrived on time and took me to the train station. The woman helped me with my luggage which was unexpected. We arrived at the train station with enough time for me to transport my heavy luggage to the appropriate kaisse and wait. I worked hard to stay awake on the train since I needed to depart at Freising to find bus 635 which would take me to the Munich airport....

One of the train attendants spoke English and showed me the bus when we arrived. Several VERY nice strangers helped me with my 50 lb bags - which I would never allow in Spain or France... too much history there.

So... I made it to Terminal One by 7:30, rented a cart and made my way to the Delta ticket counter. The line was epic! I decided to go to the customs office first since I had some detax forms I needed to have stamped and mailed. I was pleased there was no line and gave my passport, receipts and all of my papers to a very cute passport officer. He told me I needed to check in with Delta and receive my luggage tickets so he could check my luggage.... this is a new procedure... something I had never heard of before. I made my way back to the Delta counter and realized as I got closer to the first security check that I didn't have my passport in hand and that I didn't remember seeing it since my papers were returned to at customs! I dug through all my pockets. Nada! I looked in my bags. Nothing. I left my place in line and returned to customs... he held his hands up - nothing! Ok... now I was getting nervous. I had gone into a coughing fit earlier and had shifted my bags and clothing since I was overheating and perhaps I had dropped it? No one was at the information counter. A Delta representative directed me to LOST AND FOUND. Not easy to find but eventually I did. The man there was very nice, telephoned the airport police and told me if it was turned in he would telephone Delta and make an announcement on the intercom. I wasn't doing well at this point. It was getting late and I began to fear I would miss my flight. I was sweaty, tired and at wits end.

I went back to the "special" Delta counter and showed them my xerox of my passport and wondered if that might suffice - knowing it wouldn't. He spoke to another official who said no, I would need a letter of transportation from the American Consulate which would take a day... except it was Saturday and their offices would't be open until Monday (!) I asked if I needed to notify Delta and he said no. They were aware of my situation...

I sat on the chairs and held my head in my hands and feared the worst. I was PMSing, sleep deprived and feeling bad. I considered about my options, sighed a deep sigh and determined to methodically look ONE MORE time while I could still board my flight. I began to deconstruct my luggage, clothing and bags and eventually discovered my new passport (!) wedged between two bags under some other travel essentials. How it wound up there I do not know. I was relieved but very nervous that it might be too late since I only had an hour or so to check in, visit customs for the third of fourth time and get through security. Somehow I manged... my bags were exactly 50 lbs and before she sent them off I actually remembered to inquire about the detax. She said they needed to examine my bads to insure I had the articles so I had to remove them from the conveyor and take them to customs who of course didn't even bother to open them, but stamped my documents and sent my heavy bags on their way.

By the time I made it to security the line was pretty short as was the time. I was lucky. They took my yogurt away (probably for the best) and I again, had to deconstruct myself and my luggage for the xray machine. I was so happy to make it to my flight with my very heavy hand luggage (all my books were in it) that I didn't care that I didn't have time to find cuban cigars in the duty free shop. The flight was 9.5 hours. I asked the attendant to awaken me when they served the meal. As soon as I had my wine with dinner I took half an Ambien and it was like someone clicked off the switch. When I woke up we were an hour and half from Atlanta and I still had time to watch my first episode of Nip and Tuck.

Atlanta was another kind of hell due to Delta's inability to maintain a flight schedule... but that's another story. I finally got home with my damp, beer soaked luggage two and half hours later than scheduled. It could have been a great deal worse. Losses: three bavarian beers (the security guy who helped me pick the glass out of my luggage and sniffed in appreciation. We both acknowledged that even beer made by the monks would have a hard time surviving an international flight.) Another casulty was a new linen shirt I found at H&M for Mr. dd. Paint stained it and it doesn't look like it will come out. It would be easier to shop for the the mister if the H&M here carried men's wear!

C'est la vie. It could'a been SO much worse!

katzenmanifest

2008-06-09T04:32:00.002-04:00

Ah. When one's second language skills are as bad as mine are I appreciate discovering universal alphabets or manifests that transcend region and cultural differences. This manifest, I believe achieves that which is so most anywhere on this planet and maybe even a few others.

Here and There

2008-05-22T17:40:00.004-04:00

I've been working in an artist residency in Bavaria for awhile now. The landscape and architecture are picture perfect... Brother's Grimm meet Heidi and share a pint together. The people who live in this proud land are good Catholics who drink a very high standard of beer and spend a great amount of time tending to their decorative vines. (really... like art) I am inspired by them in many ways.

It's has been very cold here- in the upper 50's during the day - and I was in such a state before I left home that I still had half my clothes from my Florida trip in my bag. I grabbed one sweater as an after thought... for the plane! I knew better. Anyway... an amatuer paintng class gathers in the park outside my atelier every afternoon for FOUR HOURS and they work plein air... in the cold and the rain. I've not let myself complain about the weather since I've been admiring their fortitude.

I've posted a photo of one of my greatest comforts at home... my youngest furr ball. She is snoozing here - completely unaware that our Siamese is glaring at her, waiting for a chance to demonstrate who rules the roost.

Continuing Education for Recovering Academics

2008-04-29T09:32:00.001-04:00

BAM BAM BAM

2008-04-04T18:10:00.003-04:00

Ok. Today I am experiencing

Mittelschmerz

not so good but I'll try to convey the events of the sounds implied in the title of this post.
I heard a noise outside... then a knock at the door. We have a locked gate between our front door and the sidewalk so I assumed it was a knowledgeable neighbor or friend.. someone who knows the secret entrance. I threw on a coat since I was half dresssed and ran downstairs. As I was descending the stairs I heard a BAM BAM BAM using the knocker on the door... and I suspected something was wrong.

I glanced out the curtain of the door and I saw a cleancut young man in a suit and I said "just a minute..." I opened the door and there was a man standing in a defensive posture with a badge in his hand... jutting it into my face. "FEDERAL MARSHALL" he said. There was another young man in a suit standing at the top of the stairs... his back up, I guess.

I thought... "oh shit. Did we not pay a parking ticket? What the fu.....???" And he asked if "Lynn Hen......'" lived at this address. I said "no." "Lynn H.... hasn't lived in this house for more than five years but that occassionaly we'll still receive mail addressed to this person... that one of the reasons we have a locked gate is that the house was a half way house when we purchased it."
"OH, he said..." He hasn't changed that, even." And then he said "Thank you, Mam" and they turned to leave. I asked if I could unlock the gate for them so they wouldn't have to crawl over the fence or climb through the bushes... and they asked if I was sure I didn't want them to stay ... since I need to have a locked gate, etc. (ha, ha)

Its funny. It was this brief interlude in an otherwise ordinary day... still... I walked upstairs and my heart was pounding. I realized they didn't look as much like marshalls as they looked like actors playing federal marshalls... that they must have learned everything they know from watching "Law and Order..." I told Mr. dd the story and he also had a good laugh.

I am amazed. I have a locked gate and I STILL have strange people and things arriving at my door! Karma, I guess.

fullness

2008-03-26T16:04:00.001-04:00

I am full...
full of a lovely lunch from the cafe at the Roger Smith Hotel in Midtown... Full of one of the best pastisse I've been served in the United States... full of rich memories from the past two days with Bob, Irene, Carole and Katherine and Brennan, the last two new friends met through Bob last night. Carole, Bob and I had a wonderful meal with them at an Indian restaurant at 100 2nd Ave between 5th and 6th after a day spent wandering through various arts districts with Irene.

Irene and i met up at the Whitney earlier in the day... whose galleries we discovered are closed on Tuesdays(!) This is particularly unfortunate since Irene left NYC today to begin her journey home. MOMA was closed- as well as many, many galleries... all preparing for the art fairs and eeking out any business to be had during this economic downturn.

It seems that everyone on the train is coughing. People are bugging me for the extra seat next to me. I have made sacrifices during the past two days and feel I deserve this extra seat. I just happen to be sitting next to the cafe car and within easy reach of the entrance. That
was a mistake I won't make again when I need quiet and what privacy can be had in a hurling tube of metal. I pay more for a train excursion... so I think one deserves to have the space one needs as long as there are plenty of other places to sit. My preference is to protect this boundary and my health since the cost of the fare is more than double what I paid for the chinatown bus.

After Irene and I made our way to the Drawing Center in SOHO to see the best show of all ( emerging draw-ers) we crossed over to their Project Space and then to Deitch Projects and finally Artists Space. Carole met us there and we considered staying for a wine and cheese book signing... but they weren't comfortable. We left and found a cafe and spent an hour recovering from our day and discussing human rights in Dubai and China. Irene has seen it all since Valentines... virtually a worldwind trip. It'll take her a long while to digest everything she put on her plate for this excursion. I wish she could digest it here but alas, even she has go home once and awhile.

Home again, home again jiggedy jig. I've missed blogging and have spent many a sleepless night surfing through the words of many a friend and acquaintanced... I just haven't been able to clear my head with all that has come to pass since Valentines. Spring is here. I am better. My parents are well enough and my brother is hisself. All we can do is move forward and remember the love we shared before.

words of comfort

2008-03-10T00:08:00.004-04:00

Our electricity went out last night along with 43,000 others in our part of the world due to high winds and a utility company that has yet to accept the needs and demands of the 21st C... but that isn't what this post is about. The slipshod routine we've been living during the past few weeks was shattered and as a consequence we spent way too much money sitting at a bar with wifi and while out of my regular loop I misplaced my mobile.

Before we lost our daylight during the last few hours of standard time I spent some time talking to my Dad. He read me a letter my sister sent him maybe a year ago and it just sent me spinning because it was a beautiful letter which expressed my sister's desire to get her life together and for us all, as a family, to be in one place at one time. It was a dream my sister and I shared but as unlikely as Ralph Nader winning the presidential election. Our lives are very different. Spending time with my family is intense... time with us would make the straightest person I know want to drink or take drugs. I don't know why it is so hard... perhaps it is because we are a humorless bunch... or because we rarely medicated ourselves in each other's company??? I've beaten myself up about this and felt depressed about it for more years than I can remember. Finally it became clear that, well, it isn't just us or the people who inspired Faulkner... a dear friend of mine who lives across the country telephoned on Saturday and we spent some time catching up. We grew up together although our families are very different. She is a therapist now and asked me if being with my family had given me any comfort when I went home. When I confessed that no, they hadn't and how it depressed me she went on to talk about how people turn on each other during times of stress and loss. I couldn't believe it to be true but she is a wise woman who has experienced it herself. I have to admit it helped me a bit... putting it in a different perspective.

wordiness

2008-03-03T12:07:00.003-05:00

Many times over the past few weeks I've started sentences and been unable to finish them... particularly if I am talking. I've also reread a few things I've written and wondered if the same person who started these sentences was the same person who finished them...

Friends have said that there are no words.... but in my heart there is one thing I KNOW... words are as powerful and real as images... as the atoms we breath and are made of. The can be tonic, salve and toxin. They can change the way those same atoms resonate and respond to their environment. It is the closest thing to magic I know. Then there is the language barrier... or worse, the closed mind. Economy and simplicity can still win over these constraits with a few well chosen and thoughtful words, syllables of truth when all else fails. I do believe this is a truth that is self-evident... when I have faith in little else.

my baby sister

2008-03-01T11:25:00.006-05:00

The southern version of "the lupners" during
the late 1960's at the Bolivar County Fairgrounds.

We were a goofy group of kids. We fought ferociously with each other but would defend the other with our last breath. My younger brother and sister arrived eleven months apart during 1962: my brother born a rigid Capricorn and my sister a generous, socially engaging Sag.

My parents did their best raising three very different children. My brother and I were taught to be very independent and my baby sister hung on to those apron strings like a life line. She grew up to be a beautiful woman who married twice and raised three children until her girls went to live with their father about ten years ago.

Mr. dd and I received a telephone call around midnight on Valentine's Day. We looked at each other with alarm. Now that we are grown and married it is rare that we receive drunken phone calls from friends who need to hear a friendly voice... I don't remember who answered the phone but it was my father on the line. He, my mom, my sister and her two daughters were on holiday in Florida. My sister left the hotel around 8:30pm to buy some tums from the store across highway 98. My mother heard brakes squeal and she knew. She ran outside to see my little sister lying in middle of the highway. The car that hit her never bothered to stop. The police are still searching for this felon and the three other drivers that hit her each stopped and tried to help. She died instantly and never knew what hit her.

I will miss her always but then I have missed her my entire adult life, really. Our paths were far apart but I made a point of seeing her whenever I traveled south. She had a great passion for life, friends and family. I'll miss my father asking me "have you spoken to your sister?" I'll miss her smoker's laugh... her persistence of memory... her ability to recall details that I lost along the way a long time ago. She was 45. She was so strong. I thought she might outlive us all.

ancestral ground

2008-02-28T16:50:00.004-05:00

The structure above was once a school house that my mother attended for a number of years as a small child. It was literally a "one room school house" begun by one of my uncles many generations ago. I wish I knew more about this side of my family. They are kind and gentle people, heroic - yet humble.

Down the road to the right is the Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church and Cemetery. The church shares its pulpit meister with several other churches. The cemetery is full of my mother's half of the family tree. One day she'll be buried there somewhere close to my beloved sister, my grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Before my sister was buried there I realized that I considered Mt. Zion to be a place separate from the world I live in... a place that acknowledged a time long gone... but of course it was me that has been long gone.

Just as I wonder how much there is to do and ask how it will come to pass our lives turn on a dime. We are reminded of its fragility... and how everything exists as different stages of ash and stardust. It all sounds so goofy... but physics doesn't lie.

The old school house remains... to remind us of things we've forgotten and lesson's we've yet to learn.

too many words too little time

2008-02-27T12:00:00.005-05:00

My sister in '81 0r '82 after the Willie Nelson concert at MSU.

I've missed having time to write, especially since there are many thoughts and questions I've needed to pour into this volumn of words and deed:

Why did my sister survive Katrina to be hit by a car on Valentine's Day? Why does Mr. dd have a compulsion to rub together the satin edging on the blanket at the foot of our bed?? It is as subconscious and one twirling one's hair or scratching their beard... Why do my cats (different in age and breed) kneed the bathrobe my mother sent me for my birthday? Why am I so miserable in my brother's company? Does art matter? Why can't Hillary and Obama get it together and be running mates? How did Foamy survive the journey home for my sister's memorial? It wasn't easy. None of it is easy. I need a drink. Or drugs. Or a good laugh. Or best of all - all three at once.

There are a plethora of words I can begin to answer these questions with but it wouldn't bring my sister back or our democratic front runners together. Instead I've been trying to focus on my students and the immediate matters at hand and on the horizon- art, travel, taxes, my family, thank you cards, my needy cats and maintaining close communique's with my parents. It isn't easy but c'est la vie.

Just In time for the Superbowl and Mardi Gras...

2008-02-03T18:47:00.000-05:00

Although there may have been some karmic benefit for mainlining the fear and reality of the post you'll read below (with Mardi Gras just a few days away... I couldn't resist posting this. At least it still falls within the dangers of alcohol schematic!

Think Before You Drink

2008-01-22T02:19:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine has an impressive job with many responsibilities for an international corporation. This past fall she was the unfortunate recipient of a DUI - having received her first one over four and half years ago. I don't advocate drinking and driving but it seems to me there is a better way to solve this problem than the solution she describes below:

SO... i've been in for 3 days a'ready. going in tonite for 3 more, out on friday nite.. back in saturday for LAST three. thank Christ it will be finished. oh, and by the way, ignorance IS bliss. and anyone who ever said it's better to have loved than never loved at all and all that other horseshit doesn't know what they're talking about. i've determined that NOT KNOWING is better in all circumstances. wish i could've done the whole thing at once. the dread is giving me heart palpitations.

This is what I can look forward to:

Upon arrival you get a shitty outfit, plastic shoes, one cup, one bar of soap, one bottle of shampoo (brand "Maximum Security"--gotta love that one!), one plastic spork (recycled, of course) that you must wash and use for every meal, a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a small black comb like little boys used to have in their back pockets and one roll of toilet paper.

it was totally dehumanizing, even. i began to think of victims ofgenocide. a bit melodramatic, maybe. but it was THAT BAD.

you know how in the movies you see jail--there's a mattress, a pillow and the lights go out at nite - well, it's not like that. i slept on a concrete slab and the "mattress" is a 3" think piece of plastic covered foam. you get two sheets and a wool blanket. no pillow. and the lights stay on all nite long--just like the drunk tank. nice and bright. well, they dim slightly between the
hours of 11pm and 5am.

at 5, we wake for "breakfast." usually grits, slivers of potato, a slab of butter and two slices of bread. the cheapest bread ever, like wonderbread or something. then we clean. windex, pinesol, sweep, mop, scrub down showers, toilets, etc. in the common area and our rooms. there's 12 rooms and a common area that's open between 5am and 11pm. there are
books to read and magazines. books like, "Sara's Weave & Curl," "Project Chick," etc. and I'm not even kidding. i did read, "The Rescue" by Nicholas Sparks--a real page turner. ugh. there's a tv hanging from the ceiling, 2 payphones and 5 tables. all the furniture is steel--round tables with barstool-like seats around them. the first day, theytook our power away because someone left a newspaper and cup on top of one of the tables. no power only
means no tv and no phones. when someone pushed the button to ask why our power had been taken, a deputy blarred back, "the button is for important matters only. you crackheads don't need to push the button for petty bullshit."

inspection's at 8am. all "beds" made, everything wiped down, and no sleeping under the sheets until at least 6pm. lunch at noon. four more slices of bread, one slice of lunch meat (brown around the edges), rotting carrots and one slice of cheese. oh, and one very coveted pack of mayonnaise.

dinner at 5. four more slices of bread. gravy with unidentifiable objects floating about. it's not meat, not noodles, not pieces of fat, not sure what. .brown on one side, white on the other. . .mushy, witha side of jello and a vegetable. you know, like Real Value Green Beans or something. on the third day, dinner is a main course of all the shit you didn't eat
for the last three days served back up again with some brown beans and horsemeat. YUMMY.

there were all kinds in there. one woman in for onpayment of child support, another for "kicking an officer in the nuts," another for assault and battery,and driving on a suspended. all these ladies had more time to do than me, and one was pregnant. so, i'm quite fortunate.

so, there you have it. i cried a lot the first day, i wasn't sure i'd make it. but, the others reminded me how lucky i was that i was going home in 3 days. so, I decided to buck up and take it like a man.

when i called jay from jail, he hung up twice thinking i was a telemarketer. when i finally got through, so, feel free to pass along my experience to anyone contemplating getting behind the wheel after a few glasses of wine. just don't tell 'em it was me, because i'll deny it. this whole thing has been SO embarrasing, dd. telling someone you've been to jail around this town is like wearing the scarlet letter or something, a permanent stain, or that mark on the etch-a-sketch that just won't erase. ya' know?

This excerpt was copied from my email program with permission from the writer to share her story with whoever I thought would benefit.....

True Confessions

2008-01-16T00:14:00.000-05:00

Where shall I begin? I had high hopes of printing my NY resolutions here... instead I've been spending far too much time on facebook hanging out with friends I never see. It is a much better swimming hole than MYSPACE - which I don't care for.

When I can tear myself away from the book I've been preparing for the new year and listening to the occassional primary debate. I thought the one tonite between the democratic three was better than I expected it to be. Hillary may sound good but a lot of people just hate her for reasons I think they didn't like Al Gore... she's right and she knows it. She's like Lucy in Peanuts... she has her charms but she annoys people who don't like strong women. I read surveys here and there and she pops up and still, it surprises me. Any of the three would be an improvement and that was something to celebrate. Mr. dd was disappointed that Dennis K. wasn't included but it wouldn't have seemed as serious even though I know he would have brought up some very good points.

I'll be back soon. There have been too many things to take care and not enough clock.

tis the season

2007-12-16T10:44:00.001-05:00

A friend and mentor passed away earlier this week. She lived an admirable life, took care of her friends, family and all the creatures who shared her world. She made a difference in many people's lives and took care to set a good example in her community. I'll miss her and her art.

She was in her 80's, lived by herself in her own private idaho, could drive and was as sharp as a tack. She collapsed on her deck in her woods and died of a massive heart attack. As much as I hate to see her go I know it was a blessing since a slow decline would have been completely unacceptable in her eyes!

The Egg Bowl

2007-11-23T14:54:00.000-05:00

I married a man who doesn't follow football (though he does have a fondness for cheerleaders) and neither does his Dad. My interest has grown from adolescent resentment (jocks, ugh!) to respect for a game that is as much about passion, risk and doing what one can with one's talent as it is about money. Do I follow the SEC? Not generally. DO I prefer Soccer? Yes. Do I wish as many people were interested in art as they are in football? Of course... though all in all, I've realized I have more in common with a football fan than a NASCAR fan... and I prefer an underdog to a superteam.

SO - I always root for the Bulldogs when they play the Rebels and Tech when they play UVA. The Egg Bowl isn't broadcast nationally but I found a website that shows the game's progression here. Rah, rah, rah... lets cross our fingers and cheer for those DAWGS!

update: It looks as if it would have been an exciting game to watch since those Dawgs came from behind in the 4th Quarter (from 0 / 14) to beat Ole Miss 17 / 14. My dad called at the beginning of the 4th Quarter and I knew he was bummed because it wasn't looking good for MSU.. but the sad part is he had already given up on them based on past performance... that's my dad. He doesn't really acknowledge that things can turn on a dime... in life as well as football. My Mom was sitting in the back drinking wine and rooting for her Dawgs because life experience has taught her that things can turn upside down in the blink of an eye. YEAH, team!

Thanksgiving 2007

2007-11-21T23:40:00.000-05:00

menu for those who are left behind or who prefer to travel when everyone else isn't... (for the 6 of us...)

one and half roasted chickens
a turkey breast
spinach salad
gingered candied yams
holiday bread
marencho cheese
cranberry sauce
gravy
bread pudding
pecan pie
several bottles of Protocolo!

a complete improvisation...
and another blessing to be counted. The only thing that would make it better would be to have my parents here with us. It is am ambitious drive for youngsters and a bit much for each of us. I miss them.

Mr. dd's parents will be here but we'll miss seeing his niece. We have two friends who have endured divorces from their spouses during the time we've known them - they'll both be here since their children will be with the other branch of their family. I hope it will be fun.

2007 d i r g e

2007-11-19T23:29:00.000-05:00

#1.
As this year speeds to an end I hope to post a number of the blessings mr dd and I have to be thankful for. The brassband that plays in our neighborhood on hot saturday nights is certainly one of them...

The Devil Made Him Do It

2007-11-07T19:59:00.000-05:00

By some strange coincidence Mr. dd and I saw the end of a campy, strange film tonite titled "The Prophecy" where we watched Satan, played by Viggo Mortensen eat the heart of Gabriel, played by Christopher Walken... (it was great fun, I only wish we had seen it before October 31...) and then... learned that Joe Morrissey, bad boy disbarred attorney from Richmond, VA is now a member of the House of Delegates of the state of Virginia. He ran unopposed. At least he's a democrat... but is that good or bad? We are very confused.

Um... Did Keith Olbermann really say that Pat Robertson has endorsed Rudy Giuliani?!!! Now we are realllly confused!

Ay, yi, yi, yi, yi!!!!!!! After watching one of the videos below can you determine which character best fits the profile of bullet proof Joe, the teflon former attorney?

A Beatnik Wake

2007-11-04T17:58:00.000-05:00

a detail of a charcoal drawing at one of the best shows of last season...

A colleague/friend passed through town today enroute to DC. We spent a few hours looking at art, walking the river and drinking coffee and what was once the first integrated restaurant/grill in town. Now it is a very European Bistro and a different place altogether... but there was a time when the long hair, short skirts and left of center lifestyles were radical and this boho hangout contrasted sharply in this sleepy southern town. Now younger parodies of the same ideals are still present... but are countered with high rents, a weak dollar and expensive coffee, wine or microbrew. There is the famous Hemingway quote on the blackboard there:

In Europe we thought of wine as something as healthy and normal as food and also a great giver of happiness and well being and delight. Drinking wine was not a snobbism nor a sign of sophistication nor a cult; it was as natural as eating and to me as necessary."

which is quite sad since a glass is Protocolo (a favorite wine of ours) sells for eight dollars at this chic bistro and a bottle can be purchased at almost any wine retailer for less than seven dollars!

After a lovely afternoon with my friend I collected Mr. dd in order to attend the wake of a well known eccentric, beat poet, art collector, etc. It was facinating ... seeing ancient faces representing well lived and occasionally wasted lives... and wondering if we, Mr dd and I, will still LOOK like who we are when we are in our 70th decade. There were all there... historians with books depicting our departed beatnik in photos with Norman Mailer and James Baldwin... faded beauties who read his beat poems lamenting virgins he couldn't have and the same chain-smoking alcoholics who have talked loudly through every poetry reading they've attended over the past fifty years...

His beverage of choice was some sort of high proof red alcohol that burns all the way down... nothing you'd ever find in the Foam's liquore cabinet... but people were passing the bottle like communion! The two sad things I walked away from this festive wake with are:

a. he loved to collect art, he hoarded it, but didn't like to pay for it. He was pronounced a bonafide thief by many painters of that generation who were present... AND

b. he donated his extensive collection of art to a regional university where I was employed for many years... there wasn't a single representative from this institution... and based on my time there I would have been surprised to see anyone bother to show up. Institutions hire scores of people whose job it is to increase their collections, real estate holdings, etc and I find them to be quite sad... circling the ill on their deathbed. It just gives me the ick... yet I've seen families practically give away artwork from extensive artist collections in estate sales... I don't know which is worse. What do we do with all this stuff? Some artists burn their work at some point in their career. Ya can't take it with you and most cities won't let a family pay a loved ones "death tax" with artwork. Picasso and Paris are the rare exception... but back to the wake....

I knew many these youthful if ragged faces from my many days and nights and that bohemian grill I mentioned earlier in this post. It was the first place I felt comfortable in my own skin after moving here from NOLA and I am grateful for the contributions these boho beatniks made to this city. They've saved historic buildings and cherish many European values that are no longer appreciated in 21st C America...

Someone brought up this division for a minute but then they remembered we were there to celebrate a genuine, if flawed, man who knew Ezra Pound, had a fist fight with Mailer and was once a roomate of Tom Robbins.

Where did October go?

2007-11-02T17:26:00.000-04:00

The Bread and Puppet Theatre came to town a few days ago.
They aren't quite Jon Stewart but you know they are going
to be hitting all the relevant notes regardless of the
weather or the ratings. They are the real deal.

What have I been doing? Missing my blogtime, dealing with slow computers that have been overworked... dealing with a life that is overwhelming at the moment... coping with viruses and allergies that seem to be taking over our fair city... and praying for more rain.

Less time more CASH

2007-10-01T22:32:00.000-04:00

left: portrait of S.B.

Someone I greatly admire was just in town for a show I've been preoccupied with (hence my absence from blogworld...). My friend, who'll I'll refer to here as SB, is a long time advocate for the Man In Black, met his family and worked in his home... I don't exaggerate when I say he is her MUSE in art and music.

Saturday evening I was standing in another friend's kitchen with a number of people from our community. It was Friday night and we were all ready to celebrate another show on the walls and a week's worth of days marked off the calendar. A new aquaintance was there wearing boots with Mr. Cash's face painted on them inspiring a story from one of our notable tale tellers, a handsome man from Jersey. He told a story about attending a concert at the Birchmere in N. Virginia. Mr. Cash was on the bill and as the tale teller got up to go to the loo he looked to his left and could see into Mr. Cash's dressing room. The Birchmere is an intimate hall and well worth checking out if you are in the region.

Our Jerseyboy (JB) tale telling friend noted as he passed Mr. Cash's dressing room that Johnny was leaning into a wall and a man had his knee into Mr. Cash's back tightening a "corset," or in JB's mind, a GIRDLE!!!... and he proceeded to say that Johnny's tone of voice "Hello, ya'll" was a direct affect of wearing "said" girdle!!!!!!!!!!

I watched as my friend from Jerseyfriend dug his hole deeper and deeper... waiting for the viper's to attack. Finally, our hostess, also a ELL HEELED girl from Tennessee, said "Well I think any long time fan of Mr. Cash would know that he was wearing a "back brace." And SB, who has flaming red hair leaned across the kitchen toward him (I was expecting blows) said "You know you'd be picking yourself off the floor if you told that story in a bar in Tennessee...." and JB' eyes were shining as he looked around and realized he was zigging when he ought to be zagging.

He sucked in a deep breath and said, Oh, well, I guess that's another way to look at it, I never thought of that.... and SB waived her arm at him and said "Now, retell it from the beginning the way it really was...." WE ROARED!!!!

Jerseyboy is THE Italian Stallion of our community of artists and artisans and I have never seen or heard him back down from one of his amazing TRUE stories.
And so he started again, beginning with the Doctor he saw in Mr. Cash's dressing room helping him fasten his backbrace....

Of course it would help to see and know the varying degrees of distinction that make up of the motley crew we know to be friends and neighbors but since I claim to protect the innocence and privacy of these same folks I won't dwell on their sexual orientation or political affiliations other to say that they ALL have respect and affection for the MAN IN BLACK!

1965

2007-09-11T21:21:00.000-04:00

A college friend sent me this email today. He received this from someone he once worked with who was inspired to share her memory of a story that rings too true to keep in the vault.

"I was born and lived the first 25 years of my life in the small town of Starkville, Mississippi. Yesterday, my local Savannah newspaper published an Associated Press article that hurled me back to my childhood. The article devoted two pages to the creation of the Johnny Cash Flower Pickin' Festival on November 2 in Starkville. Forgive me as I flashback....

In 1965, Starkville was a small college town of about 10,000 people. One Sunday, I was attending Mrs. McIlwain's Sunday school class in the conservative First Methodist Church of Starkville when loud whispers were heard from the hall. As dutiful Southern children, we remained in our seats, waiting for sweet Mrs. McIlwain, about age 60 (or older), to enter the room as she did every Sunday. This Sunday, however, Mrs. McIlwain did not appear. The whispers grew louder and we soon learned that a young man had been arrested in Mrs. McIlwain's rose garden at 2 a.m. that morning.
His name was Johnny Cash and he was found naked in her garden, very drunk, and singing to her prize roses. The image of the pristine elderly Southern belle and her roses next to the image of a naked drunk man was enough, but when we learned that it was Johnny Cash who had entertained college students the night before, we were thrilled!

As the morning continued, we heard more rumors of Mr. Cash's wild night, including his rantings in the one room Starkville City Jail (envision Mayberry), the reaction of Mrs. McIlwain when he destroyed the roses she was saving for a Mother's Day celebration at the church, and the response of the local police force. For several days, it was the talk of Starkville, but, like most events in a small town, it soon was old news.

Several years later, however, the event was immortalized by Johnny Cash in a song, "Starkville City Jail" that appeared on his San Quentin Prison album. Soon"pilgrims" came to Starkville to see the jail and even Mrs. McIlwain gave a few tours of her garden.

In Mr. Cash's autobiography, he claims that he was arrested by police while walking from his motel to a grocery store. Nice try, Johnny, but you were not the "man in black" that night!

There is a movement to pardon Mr. Cash posthumously. In sharing this memory, I have to say that Mr. Cash was treated pretty well for the time period. After he was deemed to be sober the next morning, the police released him with no further actions. In 1965 rural Mississippi, that was the equivalent of Otis letting himself into the cell under Andy's watchful
eye.

I am thankful to Mr. Cash, however, for giving me this opportunity to share this 42 year old memory with you."

Virginia

Now and Again

2007-09-06T14:17:00.000-04:00

Canadian Geese. Naturalized Citizens or illegal aliens? We love them either way. They like our neighborhood so much they don't migrate anymore.

Memory of another time

2007-09-05T18:57:00.001-04:00

work in progress: a study of another time. charcoal on panel. 8/2007 16" x 16"

Dust, rust and sin... dusk, lust and gin. Too many things and not enough clock... a theme dear readers should take to heart.

Shock

2007-09-02T23:40:00.000-04:00

Late this afternoon I was working in my studio when a long lost cousin who is my Dad's age rang me up on the telie. I am not sure we'd ever had a conversation before... maybe years ago when we both lived in New Orleans at the same time but were in very transitional periods. Anway - my father encouraged her to call me because our politics are very similiar and now that my family is online I am always receiving propagadistic emails from people who may be related to me - except for her. She sends excerpts from articles, usually critical of the "situation" we've gotten ourselves into in the "big house" in DC, Iraq, et al.. We spoke for a long while and I tried to work in the meantime knowing that I didn't want to hurt her feelings by cutting her off. We were burning daylight as we spoke - my best worktime.

Immediatly after I hung up with her my parents rang up to remind me that my Dad is having surgery on Tuesday... and to tell me that another cousin of mine, one I adored as a young girl - is in critical condition at a local hospital near them! I was told she had sepsis. They asked me questions about it. I don't know much about sepsis except I thought perhaps it was like a staff infection... something that could be fatal. (I watched a great deak of E.R. at one point in my life... I was in traction...) She is in her early 50's and had been feeling sick for the past month. She wasn't able to start the semester last week she was feeling so bad so she was admitted to the hospital at 10pm last night. All of her immediate relatives were gathering at her bedside once it was determined that her situation was critical. I hung up and thought about this sweet cousin and hoped she would get the care she needed to heal - quickly!

My parents called me a few hours later - 9:30 or so to tell me she died of Septic Shock. Her family thinks it was from some catfish she ate earlier last month. Is this possible? Who knows? I haven't seen this cousin for quite awhile but we have emailed each other in the past few years. She was always a bright light on my Dad's side of the family... once cute as a button: a giggley teenager and a cheerful, charming young adult. She attended college in my home town so she and her suiters would visit our house and I was always very impressed by her. It is very hard to impress most kides at that age... was a preteen who looked to her for guidance and as the oldest, believe me, I needed it. Was I a bridesmade or flower girl at her wedding? I seem to remember an illfitting dress made for an occassion that could only be a wedding. Everything was illfitting for me at that age... and maybe even until I was old enough to buy my own clothes.

My mother and I really only argued about one thing during those years... the length of my skirt. There is a mole on my thigh which I used as a point of comparison. If the skirt or dress covered the mole, it was TOO LONG. If I remember correcly my sweet cousin backed me up on this. She was, after all, a college student and could offer an unbiased opinion. My mother disagreed. I guess she didn't like the idea of her oldest daughter showing her ass in public... a legitimate concern since I was the definition of a clutzy teenager and a late bloomer, I hope. Have I bloomed yet? The jury would stil be out but I cannot deny the fact that I may go to seed very soon. Tis the season.

As I watch my sunflowers being devoured each day by the goldfinches, ants and bees I am accutely aware of the lifespan of a flower that is taller than I. I think about my family and the distance between us. I am sad that my beloved cousin is no longer here to bring joy to her two sons, husband and silblings. Her doting parents passed away years ago which is a blessing for all. I worry about my grandmother. She is in her 80's and this will hit her hard. Her family will mourn and wonder how this could have happened - how?

Why did she wait a month before she went to the doctor? I DO understand this...(which terrifys me even more...) I am not a big fan of the medical profession or insurance companies these days. I've had some t e r r i b l e, life altering exerpiences due to inept practicioners so I don't go running to the doctor at the first sign of a flu or cold or whatever. I hit the internet. It is my doctor until it is necessary to seek additional help; Who knows what would have happened if she had received help sooner...and according to my reading Sepsis is not something a middle age woman in good health would be suseptable to... unless she was exposed to a horrible toxin - like the one floating though the mail back in 2000 or 2001... one I won't even mention here it is so dreaded. Of course that is more than unlikely... and still, we are baffled and just sad.

Septis is one of the top ten killers in the United States. Maybe Bronze John would know that but did you? I didn't. I found a great deal of information on the web but the link in the title of this post was the most helpful: "Septic shock is the nation's 10th most frequent cause of death and the leading cause of hospital-related mortality."

Flowers and a Toast in memory of Katrina

2007-08-29T17:50:00.001-04:00

Today I left some flowers on our memorial tree for all the people who lost loved ones two years ago today. I lit a candle and remembered the dayh when Katrina blew through the southeast and drowned New Orleans in its wake Mr. dd and I spent many sleepless nights worrying about our friends and family. More than one week later we were very blessed to learn that my sister saved a woman's life and was living in a shelter. In the meantime my parents had been near hysteria and drove down to the coast to look for her. It was complicated because both of them are handicapped snf my mother lived in Gulfport for maybe 20 years... so she was devastated by what she saw. They convinced the security to let them pass onto Hwy 90. My father said that nothing could compare to the things they witnessed and that he hoped he never had to see such things ever again. He said that television and photography could never convey the impact Katrina had on the region. The smell of death hung in the air accompanied by tons of debris hanging in what was left of the live oaks that shelter this distinctive environment most of the time.

The tree I leave flowers on is a Weeping Pussy Willow. It was planted to remember someone we lost not so long ago. Life goes on but it looks and feels different, forever more. True loss is never found.

The rest of this nation has stumbled past Katrina's horrors in a sedated haze of cable tv and easy credit. Katrina was a wake up call. A lot of people heard it and many of them chose to hit snooze. The difference is the rest of the world is watching us snooze via satellite. Any doubts they may have had about our nation are now confirmed. Are we becoming the nation that care forgot?

New Orleans will persist because it is and always will be the city that care forgot. People have always been attracted to the culture of New Orleans because its natives live for those moments of bliss,vlove and the grandueur and beauty that life can reveal...with a passion that often transcends reason. The sublime and the decadent hand in hand... not something common in most American cities.

When I worked at a Kinko's uptown (once a Hibernia Bank, now a Rue de la Course coffee shop) we used to call NOLA a Back Water Banana Republic. Our staff was full of over educated word processors and paper collators... who were gay, straight, butch, punk, transgenger, rock-a-billy, arty boho and more. I loved playing with the copy machines, making one ten cent copy for blue haired ladies on April 15 and spending the month of May explaining to Garden District Debs that we can't get the engraved effect of a wedding invitation with a xerox machine- regardless of the brand or model.

Even then, I knew. We spent labor day weekend in 1984 or 85 taping up our windows while waiting for a hurricane. We drove through the eye of the storm looking for my Mother who was living in Gulfport. She was staying in a three story brick house on the beach that had survived Camille.

Elena and Gloria blew past New Orleans that year. The Gulf Coast toasted their good fortune and we all moved on. I've always told my friends who expressed interest in New Orleans that if they wanted to go they better go soon since one day it would be America's version of Venice. I wish. Instead it is America's version of an urban landfill... full of people, places and things of the nation that care forgot.

The house my Mother stayed in during many Hurricanes didn't make it through Katrina.
In its place she left a casino barge. I hope no one was in the house when it rolled in with the tide.

More Today

2007-08-28T13:48:00.000-04:00

Here Today Gone Tomorrow

2007-08-27T23:25:00.000-04:00

the last week of what we think of as summer

2007-08-25T13:08:00.000-04:00

1oo degrees. I am cranky but too busy to let it slow me down... much.

Tonite we will swim in our secret pool under the stars. I hope I'll be tired from working hard and accomplishing many things. I don't maintain one of those whiney, funny academic blogs like the ones linked to the excellent AofEK but that doesn't mean that I don't sweat the week prior to classes springing into hyperactivity.

There are times when I anticipate it with glee and others when I mourn the loss of my time and quietude. I've been spoiled this summer in a different way. Normally when I am on my home turf I am too busy to enjoy it. This summer most of my employment plans fell through so I have had the luxury of gardening, creative projects and a few freelance gigs to keep me busy. I haven't had an extra dime to throw around and had to turn to my dwindling savings a few times but I must confess I loved the pace, the sound of cicadas and watching the colonies of bees and exotic grasshoppers feast on my sunflowers. All are happy in the animal, mineral foodchain here in our little kingdom... it sustains itself pretty well without the hyperkinetic activities of higher education. Have I become disenchanted with university life. Not exactly. Is it my age? Is it this era? This time in the 21st C? Likely a combination of all.

There was a time in 1994 when me and my truck rolled into a cotton field on hwy 61. I was fortunate to survive but not lucky enough to walk away. I suffered an ascatabular fracture of the hip, three rib fractures, a few cracked vertebrae and a bed sore that resulted from six weeks of traction. I had a great deal of time to think after I was taken off the morphine drip. One thing I realized then is that whenever I die I don't want my tombstone to read "She was a Busy Woman." Productive, ok. Creative, Great! Engaged? Fine. Full of busy work and obligations to people who only contact me when they need something? No. I am past that.

Life is different than it was in 1994. There are aspects that I miss and I may experience an occassional regret... but in general this life is saner and more compassionate. The jury is still out on the creative intensity. Part of me is very attracted to chaos.... damn it.

Another thing that has changed since 1994... RIP, Harry from the Camelia Grill, New Orleans, LA.

floating

2007-08-20T18:57:00.001-04:00

Mr. dd had his hernia repaired this morning at 6 am. This means Mrs dd was there to hold his hand and ask the surgeon how long we should wait before we resume conjugal rites. He acted like he had never been asked that question before. What is this world coming to?

Of course my mister isn't worried about such concerns at the moment. I walked into the post op between his curtains to find his bare shoulders on view as his gown hung around his white rabbit torso. His thinning blonde hair was everywhere - and the tubes and monitors mimicked its chaos as they disappeared under the blankets and bed. His watery blue eyes were lined in red and slowly blinking with the awareness that he didn't die when he went under. He was a muddled mess since he was up until 3am the night prior with a deadline he promised to meet before his surgery and medicated bliss.

I like knowing he's here where I can look after him. Hospitals terrify me for good reason.

He's in bed now wearing a large flannel nightshirt my grandmother gave me many years ago.
It has tiny red crowns with the word princess in a continuous pattern all over it. Most men would balk before letting me slip such a thing over their head. Mr. dd is putty in my hands as long as he is on his meds. Actually, he's lovable putty most days. I'm happy to know he won't be hurting anymore. Now if he'll just accept the fact that he shouldn't lift anything any heavier than our youngest cat or an armful of art books...

Now or Never

2007-08-19T11:49:00.000-04:00

I attended a service for a friend whose sister passed away yesterday. This is for her.

DIng Dong the King is Dead

2007-08-16T12:02:00.000-04:00

Most of my friends and colleagues have no idea of my personal relationship with Elvis. It is something we don't talk about - like one's personal relationship with God. I was born in 1960 and grew up two hours south of Memphis on hwy 61. Elvis was a presence that could not be denied. Every morning the Memphis DJ Rick Dees would do funny impressions of Elvis giving away Cadillacs to forlorn housewives or forgotten vets... I had a framed picture of Elvis on my bedroom wall. It was torn from the Parade Magazine and featured a cerulean blue background.

During the late 1960's or early 70's the Ellis Theatre would feature a double billing of Elvis movies for the pre-teen matinee crowd. I was there with my girlfriend Meg who was was present every Saturday in order to flirt with the boys. I was there to look at Elvis. Yes, yes, the movies were dumb - but it was the place to be on a Saturday afternoon in Bolivar County.

I just liked the way he looked when we were both SO young. He resembed a Greek God and I didn't even know what those mythic figures looked like in 1972. It is an aesthetic I continue to embrace today though the origins are closer to Rome or Greece, via Paris and NYC; than Memphis.

As time passed poor Elvis became a joke to everyone but the most dedicated fans. When we had 50's day (very big when I was in junior high) the loyal few would come dressed as the young, cool Elvis and his entourage. When I learned of Elvis' death thirty years ago today I was standing on a scaffold which was installed on top of the roof of our high school. I was painting the 1978 class motto on the top of a smoke stack in the hot Mississippi sun. It's amazing what one can take when one is young because I know I didn't drink a lot of water back then. Mostly light beer and diet coke - though not on campus! Drinking age was 18 back in the late 7o's. I remember being amazed when my German cousin told me drinking age was like 14 in her hometown... but, I digress.

I was expecting to be "spelled" by a few of my classmates that afternoon but they failed to show. It seems Ward and Meg had taken off for Memphis to attend Elvis' funeral. They weren't the Graceland types - but they understood Elvis and wanted to show their respect. I remember Ward's interpretation of Elvis - who was blonde - and he died his hair black - and wore levis so tight that they split up the rear when he arrived at school. He had someone paint "I love Elvis" with lipstick on the white underpants showing through the split. He wore a while short sleeved button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was a big hit. Still, I am surprised he wasn't sent home. Ward was a preacher's son. He was pretty outrageous - even for the 70's - even for the Delta! I think he's a lawyer now. I'd love to see him in action.

As always - I finished the mural, such as it was. I contemplated what Elvis' funeral must have been like as I sat on my front lawn in the late afternoon haze. The cicadas were buzzing and between their cycles one could hear David Bowie's "Spiders from Mars" and Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run" blaring from of my bedroom window via eight track tapes.

Elvis' presence and my Delta origins became less prominent as I weathered six years of undergrad and graduate art school. Finally in the late 80's I attended a SECAC conference in Memphis. My incentives? Professional Development... Travel money from my department... AND the final banquet was to held at GRACELAND! I'd never been to Graceland though we'd driven by its gates many, many times during my childhood. Christmas Shopping and most any occassion that took us to Memphis would take us right past those famous musically noted gates...

The banquet wasn't that memorable because there was an open bar and in true Elvis Fashion I indulged in too much vodka. I think. Bloody Marys, maybe? Before my turn on the dance floor with Bloody Mary I was able to tour Graceland with a group of about a dozen art professors. Voila! It was authentically fabulous in every sense of the word. I'll always remember his zebra decor in his lounge... everyone's mouth was hanging open.... I think because it was all so real and so fake and so Elvis. No one knew what to say. Needless to say the next day I woke up in my colleagues room, which we were sharing with art students- with one of the worst hangovers of my life. I have no idea how I made it to the plane or how I kept from spewing all over the people surrounding me on that flight.

I remember seeing a few familiar faces on the plane but I don't think they recognized me because I was literally green. (Still, I didn't drink enough water. I was still young and stupid although, like Elvis, I was old enough to know better.)

Finally, as the years passed I found a mate who finds my Delta origins to be exotic. They charm him when things are right with the world. We were married in 1996 and his wedding present to me was a signed photograph of Elvis french kissing a mystery woman in the Mosque theatre in Richmond, VA. To this day no one knows who the woman is. No, it isn't me!

Mr. dd met the famous Albert Wertheimer while researching this mythic image and asked him to sign the print he purchased for me. Elvis story is one that can be read from so many perspectives. He was mythic, tragic, bigger than life, naive, a force, a waste, mislead, etc. Still, they broke the mold. There is no other. We can enjoy the brilliance he inspires in others with fake Elvis, rockabilly, kitch, etc - as long as we appreciate someone who if nothing else was authentic.

Neither photo is a film still!
Elvis films werevery candy-coated.
These were taken by Albert Wertheimer
who Elvis allowed to shadow him on his first big tour of his
career. No one has ever been able to identify the woman
in the black dress. oooh la la!
Mr. dd purchaced the one on
the top as a wedding tribute to
our bliss.

Another Sad but True

2007-08-15T12:41:00.000-04:00

Flipping through the digital divide recently I was struck by the aging cheerfulness of Richard Simmons mug on FOX FRIGGIN NEWS. I had to back track on the clicker to confirm it was the real deal with the same hair and sequine encrusted red wife beater he's been wearing for more years than anyone wants to count. Click here to see him wearing it for a publicity still.

Fox News? If there is a place for Richard Simmons on Fox News I suppose there is place for everyone anywhere. Someone please tell him to do something about his hair and wardrobe. Fitness is a good thing. Disco aerobics were scarey then and they are even scarier to see on the morning show, LIVE in 2007.

c'est la vie

2007-08-13T14:30:00.000-04:00

Presently Untitled
mixed media on panel, 24" x 24"
2007

I didn't sleep well last night so I don't anticipate this will be a very entertaining post. Someone was scheduled to stop by the studio today to look at my new work and I think it spooked me. It's very new stuff and everything happening with it has been between me, Mr. dd and the two cats. There is one other friend who has seen it but he was just visiting from out of town so it was more like a drive by viewing...

I just couldn't doze off and didn't want to take anything for my insomnia since an Ambien hangover so something to avoid! It is possible to experience one of those when one doesn't have the hours between one's bedtime and one's morning routine to full benefit and wake up from one's meds. Ahem. I think there are many irresponsible Ambien users out there who ignore this reality and give this very useful and now generic drug a bad name. It has saved me from exhaustion many times since I am a light sleeper - particularly when I am on the road.

Mr dd and I also watched Guinevere, a film about a young woman who moved in with an artist two or three times her age in order to be mentored in how to live her life without the approval of conventional society. There are times when one needs to sleep more than watch an art film but when one can't seem to sleep anyway - what is the harm? Harmful or not it was an interesting film.

A middle-aged mother asked the middle-aged photographer whose loft she found her daughter in - what he had against women his own age... and then she proceeded to answer her question with what she believed to be a sliver of truth - it is the lack of awe a peer would have for said photographer that a young woman feels toward men with more experience? Mr dd said yeah, that pretty much sums it up. I'm glad he doesn't need his woman to be awed by him. Perhaps our Siamese cat is enough? She worships him. It is nice when scene reveals a kernel of truth when it could have settled for melodramatic hype. I adore Mr dd but we are both human and in full acceptance of those nitty gritties that permeate our life. C'est la vie...

Really...

Day is Done

2007-08-11T14:36:00.001-04:00

Thursday evening as I lay in my bed recovering from a migraine I thought about my friend D. I was expecting a phone call or a visit from him that evening since he was leaving for the Middle East the following day. I've missed him a great deal this summer. There was a time in our life where he was my second set of eyes and mine his as we sweated through long summers in unairconditioned studios. Both of us live very different lives now. We are both married and have bigger circles of family and friends to distract us from that very specific kind of solitude it takes to work alone everyday with the occasional friendly distraction.

He showed up. I was in bed and Mr. dd came to fetch me. He was wound up and in the throws of 11th hour packing, errands and unexpected delays. He took the time to look at my newest work and we talked about his family. He comes from a large Catholic tribe and is married to a lovely writer with two children. He has a sister who lives in CA but is here to visit her mother and family for the last time. His sister is dying of cancer and D was visibly upset because she might not make it back to CA before the cancer takes her last breath. She has fought her disease for the past 10 years and has continued to work in morphine induced state for the past two years in order to keep her health insurance. She's a lovely woman who has made her career crunching numbers for the film industry. The fact that she has spent her last two years focusing on things of such little consequence in order to pay her medical bills breaks all of our hearts.
Such scenarios should be the topic of a another post.

By 11pm Thursday evening I walked D to his car and wished him well on his journey around the world. I wondered how he could leave with his sister in such a delicate state - (I KNOW this man)... and wondered if he would have to turn around and come back.

Today I was on my porch working and up walks dear D with our new neighbor. He brought her into the hood and we are very thrilled to have her here. He couldn't get on the plane yesterday because it has become apparent that his sister is in a state of decline and will not make it back to CA. He is buying time to be here with her. It broke my heart to see him in this state and yet I know it is right that she and he are both here. She is meant to be here with her family and D is supposed to be by her side.

He has struggled with his work being so far from home for close to five years now and the universe has challenged each departure every step of the way. He and his lovely family will be in our hearts this week. They are a second family for me.

Down for the Count

2007-08-10T08:16:00.000-04:00

left: a study of a Thomas Eakins
drawing by one of my students.

Most mornings I wake up with a slight headache that goes away after I sit up and do some breathwork. Not yesterday. It was a doozy likely the result of the high pressure system that brought us a high yesterday of over 100 degrees F.... and several glasses of cabernet and merlot consumed the previous evening. I normally don't drink red wine in the summer for this reason but it was a special night, an open bar with a very fine complimentary buffet at a four star steak house. I could have chosen the local mircrobrew, which is very, very good, but I really shouldn't consume wheat. Beer is generally off limits for me although I'll make an exception for Guinness!

My head wouldn't stop throbbing yesterday. I tried a barrage of remedies to eliminate the stuffiness (one sinus passage was swollen) that resulted in the headache. The sum total of my day yesterday: Olba inhalers, saline solution, steam heat on my face (the most effective thing), peppermint oil, breathwork, pain pill, cold shower, head massage, spicey food - etc. The most I could accomplish was researching on line for any new miracles in pain relief from places like the curezone. I am always looking for a new home remedy since the other stuff really doesn't work (aleve, ibuprofen, etc) and it's hard on one's liver.

This morning I am ok and ready to make up for yesterday. It rained last night so at least the high pressure front moved on. There really is no good way to escape the weather. Acceptance is key to surviving it. We hadn't turned on our air conditioners until this past weekend since we knew this brutal heat wave was headed our way. One thing I've learned is that when I work overseas there are no airconditioners and it can get very hot. One learns to work around the heat and accept it as the organizing factor of one's day. In Europe they close the shutters during the hottest part of the day and take a long lunch. Here I've learned to get up early and use the cross ventilation and blinds to keep the heat out... as a result we've adjusted to the heat this year and I hadn't had a single bad headache all summer.

Now that the AC is on it's a different story. I'll continue to refer to my homeopathic prevention kit to keep my headaches at bay. The heat index is supposed to be 111 degrees today. Why do people get sinus infections during the summer? AC. If my life were different I'd spend the entire afternoon at the pool as I did when I was a teenager. I did my chores in the morning and spent the afternoon reading at the pool. Now that I look back there were moments when it appeared to be a pretty cushy life. C'est la vie.

birds and bees

2007-08-05T11:04:00.001-04:00

We have many bees, ants, even a monarch or two in the garden these days. It gives me comfort. The world is a mess. Mr and Ms DD's infrastructure at home could use some retooling but as long as the birds and the bees find a welcoming environment we don't worry so much. Ok, Mr. DD does. I don't. When the wildlife disappears, well... it's time to question our protocals at home. When the animals leave I'll be right behind them. MANY years ago my dad proclaimed, upon my compaints about the backwardness of my homeland: "Daughter, Mississippi is last in everything. Its last in education and per-capita income, reading levels, etc, etc... and when the rest of the world goes to hell we'll be the last to go." It's weird. I am feeling that the rest of the nation has been following Mississippi's lead in regards to backwardsness - the difference is our D.C. leaders have their heads up their ass instead of looking over their shoulders.

I hope Papa DD is right since that's where we'll be headed when the going gets too tough for the birds and the bees and the Canadian Geese that have relocated to our neighborhood park. We keep our cats inside most of the time and if nothing else we'll need to look after their best interest!

My neighbor caught a rat in a trap this morning (maybe because we have cat's that can't roam the 'hood). That is one corner of the animal kingdom I don't wish to welcome into my domain. It was in his cage and it wasn't happy, screaming its displeasure. I was reminded of an article I read recently on the empathic, ticklish and competitive nature of rats. (If only the human versions running D.C. were so humane!)

Daily Ritual

2007-08-04T14:54:00.000-04:00

Morning ritual: Read the NYT online as I enjoy the coffee Mr. dd has delivered to me. Water everything in pots. Admire sunflowers or roses or whatever foliage is hearty enough to thrive in this heat. Admire my neighbor's garden which thrives due to myu recommendation they installed soaker hoses and and a timer. Check for green tomatos in my front and pinch seeds off basil in the back. Let the cat out. Review the paintings I worked on last night. Check email. Respond to urgent or fun missives and blogs I follow.

Sunflower County

2007-08-03T11:53:00.000-04:00

It is hot. I am sitting in my studio, a little sticky. Just writing. It's nicer outside where I can water the garden and admire the sunflowers... but that's a fifteen minute task. My paintings are inside and waiting to be finished. There are also headlines to ponder and cats to feed.

I've been distracted by the collapsed bridge in Minneapolis. I have friend that teaches at the art school there and I'd love to know she's ok. Readers may also have noticed that I have a great respect for the Mississippi River. It isn't a body of water to be taken in stride or to be considered a place for recreational boating. I've posted my memories of the Mississippi before but most of my tales take place on the other end of da rivah.

A musician friend once spent several months sleeping at the mouth of the Mississippi in NOLA. It was back in the day when one could hear David Bowie break out into spontaneous version of Fame at Pat O'Brien's. Of course he was surrounded by drunks who didn't seem to notice. It probably wasn't his crowd. Sometime before that childhood friend also watched a friend's car roll into the Mississippi River from the huge levee that runs the length of the Delta.

I doubt it was like that scene in Risky Business since my high school buddies were more concerned about the ounce of pot in the glove compartment of their ancient land yacht than they were about explaining the vehicle's loss to any person of authority. He wrote a song about it. I don't remember the lyrics but it was definitely performed to a blues beat.

Sad But True

2007-07-31T22:44:00.000-04:00

An email is going around that includes a collection of what we are told are authentic vintage advertisements that are terrifyingly wrong. Everyone thinks they are funny, these old ads. I doubt this one is real. It's probably something a bored in-house designer put together late one afternoon when his or her boss was making a presentation and it was too early to go home.

Still, it makes me think of advertising we see today and wonder which ads are selling us things that will eventually kill us, maim us or make a lawyer and a plaintiff wealthy. It's happened before. Cigarette girls once handed our free packs of cigs at the art openings in the museum here!! I wonder if they were allowed to smoke them in the museum? Phillip Morris is a big art US art patron so you never know...

I taught advertising at the university level for many years and have tried to focus on selling things I could market without compromising my values... (ok, well, I did sell some mighty bad art back in the day when I worked on commission in the French Quarter) but OTHERWISE it isn't something I lose sleep over at night. Money just isn't enough for me and I have persisted in the luxury of living life as I see fit. Its a costly endeavor, not making money. I've learned that people with money are never expected to pay! Has it always been this way or just something made fashionable since the Republicans are running things?

Will cell phones be proven to be the cause of brain cancer? Depression, high blood pressure and heart attacks are on the rise since Bush was elected.We already know that plastic containers are contaminating the food chain and our fatty tissues due to so much bottled water and the misuse of microwaves. I read somewhere that microwaves are banned in Germany because they are considered to be unsafe. Does anyone know if this is correct? If so, well, another black mark on the risk side of the score card. As the husband of a favorite colleague said recently; on finding out a friend of ours has cancer: "we're all just sitting ducks."

Live each day as if it's your last since that's all we really have to go on. The rest is just a story or an ad trying to manipulate our motives and trick us from living our lives. Our housekeeper Ella Mae revealed this secret to me back in 68 or so but I didn't believe her. She was way ahead of the game, but that's another post for another day. If I seem glum I am not. I have a greater respect for cancer than the medical and advertising professions. It's a dilemma.

Present Tense

2007-07-28T17:47:00.000-04:00

holding patterns

2007-07-27T12:19:00.001-04:00

Silence and strange weather patterns can create unexpected connections. Earlier this week I was on the prowl with Mr. dd. He's writing a piece about a cemetery that contains a mass grave (trench) of confederate soldiers who were of both African and European descent. The cemetery is nearly forgotten with plaques for memorial plantings that are long dead and flag poles for flags that aren't flying.

For every stob one sees in the landscape there are three soldiers buried underneath. A few have markers and each one is numbered. If one wants to find their ancestors here it is theoretically possible.

For some odd reason as I wandered around in the unusually soft light of a July afternoon I was reminded of an afternoon I spent at St. Cloud last year. Located on the outskirts of Paris, this grande jardin is also nearly forgotten and difficult to find. The locals use its formerly opulent paths to walk their dogs, jog and the occassional picnic. The estate the gardens were built around is long gone. The boxwoods are as old as the French Republic and the statuary has witnessed it all. I wandered around the grounds in the overcast light and recorded its faded glory with my digital sketchbook.

Travel Tip

2007-07-24T18:22:00.000-04:00

My friend who told me the story below has a thing for Dr. Pepper. It's practically all she drinks. I won't get into the health ramifications of consuming too many soft drinks in this post but I will warn all of you who have such product addictions to research their availability before you pay great sums of money for a vacation.

She and her partner recently went on a deluxe cruise to the Bahamas. She had no Dr. Pepper for three days! The deluxe liner offered everything else - but no Dr. She was forced to drink tea for the duration of the cruise. Wine would have been my second choice but, hey, we all have our vices.

They arrived in the Bahamas where she spent the entire vacation in constant search of Dr. Pepper. Nada. She was miserable. She tried to enjoy her vacation but she had paid great sums of money and was forced to endure product withdrawal.

It's always good to know what to expect. I guess she could have rationed out a few liters of DP over the length of her vacation if she had known in advance and was able to bring some with her. I do that with Spiracha Hot Sauce.

When I will be overseas for several months I take several bottles with me. The sell a Spiracha sauce in Paris but its not the same. Its sweet. Yuck.

A little research goes a long way when one NEEDS a few of the essential comforts of home to enjoy one's time away.

A dark and stormy night...in the middle of the 80's

2007-07-24T00:20:00.001-04:00

Last night a girlfriend I met my freshman year of Uni stopped in for a visit. She is traveling with her godson and they were wearing the same uniform - t-shirts and jeans - or khakis.

She's a genuine character: an army brat who has lived by her own rules since the day she left home for college. Truly. Last night she told a story I'd heard long ago and now I'll relish its retelling since I fear I'll lose it again if I don't tell it now.

GF happened to be hanging out in my hometown with two young men I'd known since grade school. They were walking on the levee smoking homegrown, no doubt. I was away at grad school and missed these middle 80's years in the south.

At the end of the evening she planned to drive back to campus, an hour or so away. The weather had turned since she's left home that morning. Folks from the Delta generally take the weather in stride. Farmer's anticipate the worst and compensate for it. Delta rats are accustomed to the black, blue or green skies of tornados when the rain can be like sheets of broken glass. Add hail to the mix and it is be a recipe for danger and fear. Funnel clouds are like large spinning dice. They are most terrifying because one never knows what they will hit and or do. They can pick up cars or houses or rearrange them in an elemental, implosive way.

Most Delta natives tend to take tornados in stride because of the low elevation and a strong levee system. It was constructed in the early 20th C by the army corp. of engineers before it was fashionable and acceptable to cut corners. Tornados are a game of hit and miss so the locals stay inside as far from the windows as possible.

My girlfriend has little experience with dramatic weather since she grew up in Germany. She's an excellent marksmen and very independent but she was terrified. The radio warnings and sirens convinced her she should stay the night. She didn't remember how she found the house I grew up in but she did. She knocked on the kitchen door, soaking wet with a six month old puppy in her arms. My grandmother, who spent weekends there since my mom left, opened the door. GF said she was a friend of mine and that she was wet and scared and asked to come in. My grandmother said sure. GF dripped into the kitchen only to see a handgun on the counter. She then realized that she was truly terrified. She asked my grandmother if she should be scared! "Oh, no." My Dad was still at work. It was a dark and stormy night.... My grandmother is and always had been a god- fearing, gun-toting Baptist who won't take crap from anyone but my grandfather who'd died in the 70's.

GF asked if she could watch the television to see where the storm was headed. She was, to say the least, freaked. My dad finally came home and while my grandmother prepared dinner for them both my father held court - which is what he does best. When he learned that GF's father was at the same Uni, the same time he was, he broke out the yearbook and looked up GF's Dad.
"He pointed his finger at my father's face, god rest his soul and proceeded to tell me many things about my father that I didn't know." My Dad said of her father "This man shot a lot of pool and played a lot of cards."

It turns out GF's father, who I knew as a man of the military, put himself through college hustling pool and cards before he enlisted. GF said they shot pool once. He hadn't had a stick in his hand in 20 years and he never missed a shot. He was the real deal.

My Mamaw made sure GF was comfortable in my old bedroom upstairs. At some point during the night GF was awakend by her hysterically barking pup. She got up out of bed and looked down on the mezzanine level of the "suite" I called home during my teenage years (my ivey tower, according to my Dad.) "There was a man wearing a top hat and 19th C clothing looking at his pocket watch on the landing. He looked up at me and then turned and walked straight through the closed door into my closet." Ghosts? Hmmm.

GF says that the night she spent with my family was one of those pivotal points of her youth. Although I was raised by a very colorful family I think my GF may have enjoyed some exceptionally strong weed with those college boyfriends. STILL... it makes a great story.

I'd left home by then. When I left for Uni I lived in the independent state of moi and when I left my home state for grad school that was it. I wish I had known then what I know now and that I hadn't always been in such a rush to grow up.

I was the oldest child and fiercely independent. I could have lived at home and gone to art school on scholarship - but no. I made my own way and paid for it with grants, other scholarships and a great of work study.

Breathwork

2007-07-22T14:58:00.001-04:00

Nothing heavy today. I've been buried in my studio putting off people who want to schedule meetings with me. These are people I like who I enjoy working with... but it is a huge distraction and not lucrative enough for me to break my stride in order to accommodate their needs. Why do I transport myself and my studio materials to the other side of the state, the nation, the world? To avoid telling people no. To avoid the distraction of telling them no. To avoid the judgement I must make on whether to say yes or no. MOST IMPORTANTLY: to avoid being called upon. Its not personal. Its business.

Of course I am distracting myself now as I wait for paint to dry and think about what to make Mr dd for dinner. We are celebrating the fact that he found his glasses. He's been miserable since Friday morning, supplementing his stigmatism with various reading glasses I leave around the house. Unfortunately they do him more harm than good since he spends all day writing at a computer and he needs his prescribed lenses. Voila! I found them this afternoon.

We were girding up to purchase a second pair which would have set him back a small fortune so it really was a blessing to be counted.

Viva la France!

2007-07-14T23:50:00.000-04:00

There was a time before I realized that every shoe in Paris goes on sale Bastille Day. It was also before I knew France was a nation of proud patriots with a love of their militia, parades, fireworks - a seven course feast of everything French!

I was young and fearless and thought nothing of following my friends. We crammed into a metro car with a few hundred sweaty Parisians because the Metro was libre! We were surrounded by hundreds of odorous artpits as everyone clung to the overhead rail - memorable indeed! I don't recall exactly where we were headed but I do know we traveled the length of the Champs-Elysées between the Place de la Concord and Arche de la Défense as the day progressed.

After the parade of militia, tanks, weaponry and an airshow (with red, white and blue smoke effects) we walked toward la Défense where Mitterand had commissioned a light show and concert that would be seen simultaneously throughout the city and projected between the two monuments. Thousands of people were seated on the ground along the Champs where billboard size screens would broadcast the concert as the laser show ran between the two arches.

I was most amazed by the ambition, optimism and grandeur of Mitterand's vision. We walked home (near the Musée d Orsay) from la Défense (where my friend's sister's office at IBM featured a ringside view.) Our night ended at the witching hour when there are few taxis and no metros running!

A few readers may have figured out that although I am a passionate Francophile I normally detest crowds. Somehow this was different. France did not seduce me my first visit or even my second. Like many fine things, I've realized she is an aquired taste and one that I cherish and celebrate now as often as I can. France has managed to retain a bit of her humanity - something I see slipping away here... everyday in small and significant ways.

I worked tonite (a blasphemy on Bastille Day!) I'll make up for it by opening a bottle of our favorite French cabernet, Roquefort and a rare baguette. Mr dd and I will count our blessings and most of all the one that France marches on: whether it is Bastille Day or mardi noir... where students and civil servants participate in manifestations that celebrate and defend the French mode de vie.

For more colorful info on the French Revolution and the history of revolt you might visit the Axis of Evel Knievel.

the life we pretend to live

2007-07-11T23:14:00.001-04:00

We live very close to a number of excellent cafes and coffee shops. The closest chain is a mile away which is closer than we'd like.

Are blogs the the cafe society of our era? I am beginning to think so. If I had the time to hang I don't know if I'd find folks there I'd want to hang with or if I'd be willing to spend so much money on coffee on a regular basis. I make a pretty mean Cup of Joe myself and there are certainly times when I get a great deal of insight from my communiques here. Would I get as much out of my time with the barrista's? Not as regularly. We're all multitasking...meeting, planning, networking, listmaking, websurfing, etc.

There ARE places that defy these doubts but we are there far too infrequently to be considered regulars. Instead, here I am.

It's too late for me to drink coffee anyway and if I went to a bar/restaurant with good coffee I'd have to deal with the smoke of the masses. Living in a tobacco state is great for buying cheap cigarettes to give my European friends but it means we'll probably always have to taste smoke when we eat out for many years to come. Its not as bad as Berlin but its bad enough to keep me out of restaurants and cafes I love when I know they'll be full of smokers... Fri night at Cous Cous, for example!

In the meantime we look for places with patios when the weather is agreeable. We try to take in the present with a glass of wine of a cafe au lait and all is well with the world.

le Execution of Marie-Antoinette

2007-07-10T15:33:00.000-04:00

A distant cousin who is my father's age, has been corresponding with me via email. She sent me a surprising link today. Its only surprising because I've never imagined I had relatives whose political persuasions were somewhat like mine. All of the family I spent my childhood surrounded by were good, occasionally frustrating people but we usually didn't share the same political point of view. Religion, art and politics were definitely not dinner topics. We don't see each other very often so why would we want to spend our time in heated discourse?

As I've gotten older I've realized that I am not an alien. There ARE folks in my father's side of the family tree who see the world from a perspective that I can relate to. Hurrah!

My cousins response to the link above paralleled my response to the painting of Marie Antoinette's beheading when I first discovered it during March of 2006 in the Musee Carnavalet. Like my cousin, I consider myself to be against capital punishment but part of me, despite myself, believes that one of the reasons the French Government take care of their constituents and "listen" when the PEOPLE protest is because so many heads have fallen there and so much blood has been spilled on the cobbled stones of Paris.

If our leaders ever considered they could be held accountable for their sins and indiscretions
perhaps they'd at least listen to their consititents! In France when there is a protest or manifestation people of all ages and class either take to the streets or hide in their flats - because the government responds and believe me, I've been there. It isn't that different than most any Mardi Gras!

Since I had this epiphany that March I've realized that people here have spilled blood for their beliefs and, to my dismay, it seems to be the good guys who get the bullet. Lincoln, the Kennedys, MLK, Malcolm X... whether you agree with their politics of not these men worked hard and paid the price for standing up for their beliefs. Are there any honorable politicians in Washington? My fear is that even if they go in clean they'll get their hands so dirty surviving their compromises outweigh any good work they manage to do while in office. Are we fukced or what?

Fields of plenty

2007-07-08T11:32:00.001-04:00

It was almost a year ago that I fell in love with Sunflowers. After a lifetime of living with paintings of Sunflowers, not quite as ubiquitous as magnolias, I finally GOT IT. My parent's bedroom featured a series of Van Gogh reproductions from his sunflower series. They were curious images but I never gave them much consideration as a child. I was more interested in the blue boy and pinkie hanging in the living room.

Fields and fields of sunflowers in all stages of bloom. It was August and in southwest France sunflowers are harvested for their seed. They are left in the field to dry much like cotton. Their figurative stance, posture and expressiveness hit me like a wall. Finally I really understood why Kiefer uses sunflowers in his latest work (beyond their references to art history and allegory)! He lives in France now on a vast compound surrounded by countryside. I fell in love with the sunflower, absconded with one or two from the local fields, scanned the sunflower, drew them, painted them, wrote about them. This summer I tried cultivating them.

I come from a long line of agrairians but did not inherit my ancestor's green thumb. I did inherit their persistence and I do spend a great deal of time in the garden. Unfortunatly I am a trial and error gardener and what thrives in my neighbors' gardens doesn't always thrive in mine. I haven't resorted to purchasing plastic sunflowers yet but with a pending drout it could happen. Sigh.

Smoke Signals

2007-07-07T22:06:00.000-04:00

Last night Mr. K and I attended a potluck dinner party/film screening with a local collection of artists and writers. When true intelligencia, good food, wine and film combine the result is firey discussions all around the table. One thing that stuck with me, that has echoes through my brain, was not news to me. Afterwards, as is always the case, there was a ringing, a resonance, a humm that wouldn't go away. The timing, the messenger, the context all came together to articulate my greatest frustration with contemporary art, the media, the world I love in: Yikes!

Of course everyone knows "Its not what you say, its how you say it," said the voice of experience sitting on the leather couch. (This is very old news.) The emphasis, though, has always been on the second half of the trusim. Everyone spends all their time and money figuring out HOW to SAY it, SELL it, etc - instead of determining WHAT is is they are saying. ITS NOT WHAT YOU SAY... well, it SHOULD BE.

What one says is the part I am interested in and the problem for me is that no matter HOW one says it if they have nothing to say I am not interested. Maybe it is the Seinfeldization of politics, the artworld, etc? I know. I expect too much - content, form and beauty. Maybe its a curse?

telling time

2007-07-06T22:51:00.000-04:00

As I've matured (cough, cough) to the point where I may believe that I am as much genX as boomer (I actually seem to fall somewhere between the two... like the rat I am)... the art I make, my political point of view... all seem to be falling between the cracks... yet I've learned over the years that regardless of age some things transcend the test of time and have a longer shelf life than I would've imagined. A number of years ago I remember seeing RHPS for the first time since the late 80's. I feared I wouldn't love it... that it would reflect a tacky time in my life that I didn't want to remember. I was right and wrong. It's just as tacky as it ever was and I loved it more than ever!!!!

The B-52's are touring this summer and I've learned that I love them now just as much as I ever did. I am praying for good weather and a cool summer breeze so we can dance this mess around that we've come to know as adulthood.

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Summer Vacation 1967

2007-07-05T07:54:00.001-04:00

While the rest of the world was experiencing the summer of love I was on a family vacation with my brother, sister and parents. I think we were stopping at most any tourist trap between the Tennessee Border and Chicago but the destinations are fuzzier than the journey, as it often the case with me.

There are "Lupnereque"* photos documenting our experience in Santa's Village where I watched a chicken peck out a Christmas Carole on a mini piano in the deadheat of summer. I remember an underground waterfall somewhere between there and Independence Day. Most of all I remember the humiliation of stopping at some fast food place because they were offering free burgers or ice cream to all the kids who could recite the Pledge of Allegiance from memory.

It was the 4th of July but I don't recall my family - or the nation in general - being in a very patriotic mood! I was asked to go first, as I was the oldest. Stagefright or disinterest got the best of me and I faltered before the end. My brother was distracted with hunger and also failed the test. My 3 or 4 year old sister, who was often told me looked like Mama Cass, recited the entire thing without fail and was the recipient of a patriotic, flag decorated scoop of ice cream.

Everyone was stunned that one so young could recite something so effectively. I was slightly humiliated but most of all surprised. Little sis had many talents we never got to see very often. She grew up quickly and married young. I miss knowing her as a child as I know she must miss knowing her girls as children. I think we should rewrite the Pledge of Allegiance as an anthem to families. The rest of the nation was distracted by another pointless war, sex, drugs and rock and roll, as depicted in the video posted below.

*I've always feared that the writers of the Lupner sketches on SNL somehow knew my family. They are very accurate depictions of the life of DD.

The Long Hot Summer

2007-07-01T16:58:00.001-04:00

The passing of June is always tough for me. July and August are hard - even for a southern girl like me. June is a month of optimism. Summer spreads out before us... everyone is still making their summer plans. Parties, cookouts, home projects, creative endeavors are all possible. During July and August anything could happen. Hurricanes, drought, ticks, mosquitoes, poison ivey, etc, etc. When things go a certain way I manage to escape and do business elsewhere - an elsewhere that is either more forgiving or airconditioned.

When things don't go that way I somehow manage to get through it here, working in an unairconditioned studio with a car that has no ac either. I can't tell you how much I hate it. We aren't car people anyway... so its a test of endurance. If we could get away without having one we would. Our work requires we pay to have a car sit in front of our house 90 percent of the time... but that's another post.

One way I manage to endure the heat is the reward of something cooler and sweeter happening in late August... a trip, perhaps. Not this year! Mr dd and I both have big deadlines in the early fall and have taken a trip or two earlier this season due to weddings and family gatherings... SOOOOO.... we'll be counting the days and watching the forecasts and getting through the long, hot summer. Maybe the sounds of Paul Newman and Joey Woodward will echo in our heads to remind us of the prolific art that can born of summer heat.

the longest day

2007-06-21T09:47:00.001-04:00

Mr dd and I were married near this site, not far from the port of Appin. It was built as a home by the Stewarts of Appin. The view from the castle includes the Isle of Lismore, famed for its strong religious community which dates back many centuries. With its Celtic connections and good strong Scotch the shroud of history made the present even richer.

I miss being in that part of the world in mid June. It was a big part of my life for quite a while. It was the most healing experience of my life which is wny we chose to be married there. It was so quiet you could hear the sound of cows pulling the grass out of the ground in the morning.

7:00am

2007-06-07T08:27:00.000-04:00

left: from a sketchbook series created a number of years ago: "Message in a Bottle." collage, charcoal acrylic and graphite on paper

Many mornings a friend and I meet in a local park and walk very fast... she mostly talks and I listen and offer support as best I can. My verbal skills are far below mine or anyone's average early in the morning. If I could walk with an IV/Caffeine drip like some people walk with an ipod hanging from their neck we might all be better off.

This morning our conversation took a dangerous turn and a yellow warning light should have started flashing in my head... but no, I was too slow on the draw.

Soon, for a cause I have yet to determine, my friend turned and walked away and said she couldn't do this anymore! (talk to me, walk with me??!!) I was shocked though we do get into trouble when she asks questions, I answer and sometimes the answers upset her... BUT... mainly I listen to her. a little earlier this morning I told a story to try to illustrate a point and she said "you've always got a story, don't you?"
(It was a sad story, too...)

She came back at me and said I am "always just unrelenting - and so and so agrees - it makes us crazy... etc, etc." What?

We continued what has become a tearful walk for me and I listened and expressed my absolute distress because I realized (but did not express) that not only do I FEEL misunderstood most days... that I AM misunderstood. (this isn't the romantic tortured state an adolescent may feel when they first read that great line... Emerson, I think? This makes me think perhaps I am feeling a tinge of early alzheimers or someother disease that affects communication skills... a disorder of some kind?) Perhaps all this time spent working in the studio and in ateliers elsewhere has done more to weaken my communication skills rather than sharpen them.
Whatever... it hurts.

So - I came home and looked up the word unrelenting to try determine more specifically what my friend was referring to. These definitions popped up on Ask.com:

noun·re·lent·ing (ŭn'rĭ-lĕn'tĭng) pronunciation
adj.

1. Having or exhibiting uncompromising determination; unyielding: an unrelenting human rights worker.
2. Not diminishing in intensity, pace, or effort: an unrelenting ice storm.

Firmly, often unreasonably immovable in purpose or will: adamant, adamantine, brassbound, die-hard, grim, implacable, incompliant, inexorable, inflexible, intransigent, iron, obdurate, relentless, remorseless, rigid, stubborn, unbendable, unbending, uncompliant, uncompromising, unyielding. Idioms: stubborn as amuleox. See resist/yield.

unrelenting
adj

Definition: merciless
Antonyms: compassionate, flexible, merciful, relenting, sympathetic

Français (French)
adj. - implacable, acharné (une poursuite)

I now understand that I can be unrelenting when I believe in a cause but when talking to a friend about something I think is unimportant. Unfortunately it wasn't my intention to sound like any of the adjectives described above during our morning walk over something that really didn't affect either one of us in a direct way. I am baffled and then I am not.... more than anything I am frustrated.

If I had a nice cool cave behind my house I would hang out there all summer and make work. I'd tell everyone I am working on a residency in California and that is where I'd stay. No social contact... no telephone... maybe internet access and a good library and a garden roof - for napping. My ideal summer. We'll see.

Fire eaters consume Friday across the globe

2007-06-01T23:29:00.000-04:00

Here, there, everywhere. All across the globe. This "show" is a regular ritual many weekends here at home. Ok, we don't have the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop as they do in Paris...

Art and Culture Crossings

2007-05-30T12:55:00.000-04:00

Left: the mixed media print I'll be showing in Korea and China next month. I used mixed media on archival digital composite print of my drawings.

I've posted about the wonderful experience I had showing art in S. Korea in 2002. In the meantime an artist I know has continued her mission to create opportunities for international exchanges between American and S. Korean artists. She is an exotic force of nature... capable of moving mountains and organizing artists scattered all over the world. Each has diverse experiences... traveling to Korea and then hosting Korean Artists in the US.

Virginia artists will have work traveling to S. Korea and China next month. I don't know how our team will do it. The dollar is in the loo so there aren't many artists able to afford the trip. I don't think the other people involved have a clue as to what our team will have to endure to get this artwork on the flight and then through customs. We have a forceful leader, I'm telling ya because it is something one cannot take lightly... being responsible for the safety of other artists' work as well as making sure it arrives on time and in good shape so it can be installed in China AND S. Korea! Its harder and can be expensive as moving a mountain. She'll make it happen.

It's a dream opportunity - to travel to China and then to S. Korea again. I just can't swing the money or the time away from my work right now. If I were traveling to that part of the world I think I'd be compelled to stay longer... perhaps work on a residency in Australia, visit Thailand...it is so far away and there is much to learn... plus I have so many friends in Aussieland who love a good glass of wine as much as I do. (The Australians I know don't drink Foster's. Some of them actually really dig Miller Ponies, the Champayne of Beers. If I ever get to Australia I'll be sure to take as many as I can squeeze into my carry on - and that's even harder than moving art these days!")

Girlfriends

2007-05-30T11:24:00.000-04:00

Women in Art

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A girlfriend sent me this. Watching it is like imagining the most wonderful girls' night out or tea party with all the best women I know. The food, wine, coffee and tea would be inspired by the *gossip and opinions of world events - which would be timleess. Please rsvp and, as always, bring a great girlfriend.

*Depicted: 500 Years of Female Portraits in Western Art - Leonardo Da Vinci, Raphael - Raffaello, Titian - Tiziano Vecellio , Sandro Botticelli , Giovanni Antonio Boltraffio, Albrecht Dürer, Lucas Cranach the Elder, Messina, Pietro Perugino, Hans Memling, El Greco, Hans Holbein, Fyodor Stepanovich Rokotov , Peter Paul Rubens, Gobert, Caspar Netscher, Pierre Mignard, Jean-Marc Nattier, Élisabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Franz Xaver Winterhalter, Alexei Vasilievich Tyranov, Vladimir Lukich Borovikovsky, Alexey Gavrilovich Venetsianov, Antoine-Jean Gros, Orest Adamovich Kiprensky, Amalie, Jean-Baptiste Camille Corot, Édouard Manet, Flatour, Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, Wontner, William-Adolphe Bouguereau, Comerre, Leighton, Blaas, Renoir, Millias, Duveneck, Cassat, Weir, Zorn, Mucha, Paul Gaugan, Henri Matisse, Picabia, Klimt, Hawkins, Magritte, Salvador Dali, Malevich, Merrild, Modigliani, Pablo Picasso

Is time on their side?

2007-05-27T11:16:00.000-04:00

I like to think it is. Back in the day... before the internet we could be insulated enough to believe anything was possible. Now one has to go to a place without electricity to truly witness the world without a filter or advertisements.

My dad finally has internet access in his home. WOW! We knew he would love google. He loves the fact that he can google without the distraction of advertisements. (Lets hope he isn't infected by pop-up ads. He runs a pc.) Either way the internet will be good thing for him. Ultimately it is good thing... its the news that seems to be bad.
There are blessings everyday everywhere in the world but the newspaper, TV or the internet is the likely the last place we'll learn about them.

The dancing children above and the children of all my neighbors, relatives and blog friends represent all the promise I can imagine. When life's demands hit them in the face when they are twelve or thirteen I can only hope they'll be strong and face their challenges with honor and dignity. Its tough row to hoe at that age but it can be the most critical time in one's life. Perhaps we can invent some hologram role models for them? Who would they be like? Maybe a combination of Ghandi, Clinton and Paul Newman for the boys... I don't know who the girls role models should be... perhaps a combination of Barbara Jordan, Oprah and Kathryn Hepburn? Madonna? Your input would be appreciated!

bliss

2007-05-26T20:53:00.000-04:00

M and L tied the knot a week ago. M is a remarkable woman and an equally remarkable friend. Mr. dd and I are so happy for them. We had a phenomenal time in at their wedding. It was part Godfather, Sopranos and Sex and the City. I guess M was most like Charlotte. A real romantic in search of an honorable man. She certainly dated more than her share of charming scoundrels. I've been there. Its fun while its fun and then its not. My sister is still in charming scoundrel mode though I fail to see the charms of her current scoundrel.

M and her maid of honor arranged all of the roses above and moved from the rehearsal dinner to the reception. She's my kind of princess. Ready to get her hands dirty doing whatever it takes to do the right thing for the right people so she can prioritize her resources. We admire her and love her and wish them both the greatest happiness.

Le Marigny

2007-05-14T22:05:00.000-04:00

Mr dd and I wound up at an unintentional sideshow last night. Cafe Brazil featured a cabaret fundraiser to help an artist who lost everything during a fire. They had all the right stuff... colorful rags, youthful flesh and bone - all lit up with silly lights and bad sound. The performances weren't nearly as interesting as the crowd. Best of all I spotted Amzie... like I never left NOLA... it could have been '96, '86 or 1976. That's what I love about New Orleans... all its been through and some things will forever remain the same. Perhaps that's what Anne Rice loves, too. Maybe all the people I see over and over again have always been there and even Katrina couldn't blow them away. Anne, are you out there? That would be a story to tell but since you moved from NOLA before Katrina perhaps you aren't the best one to tell it.

I admit it. Anne Rice got to me. It was 2004 so it took ten years and a stay in Paris to get me to read "Interview with a Vampire." I didn't know it took place in New Orleans and Paris. It made me terribly homesick for NOLA and suspect of many people I saw in Pere La Chaise. They all looked like Vampires! Perhaps that's who we were watching at Cafe Brazil... the bohemian vampires?

the art of life

2007-05-13T09:15:00.000-04:00

Mr dd and I dashed around NOLA today trying to see what we needed to see and still have time to dress, have a drink and meet some locals prior to le grand nuit. We walked across the Quarter to Canal, headed for the museums and galleries in the warehouse district. Enroute we encounted a woman who would pay us 70 bucks to spend two hours at a time share presentation - seventy bucks plus free admission to the musems we were headed for. It was tempting simply to see the inside of a condo/time share near Decatur and Canal... and it would pay for our parking.... BUT, we declined. I didn't want to miss out on most of the galleries this visit and one thing I've learned is that at some point either you make a choice or decide not to make a choice and that no one gets it all all the time. anyway....

I focused on galleries today since I know they'll all be closed tomorrow. Arthur Roger, et al. It was fun. Mr dd went to the Civil War Museum and loved it. My favorite show was at Bienvue Gallery. Raine Bedsole had a terrific series of mixed media paintings and sculpture.

rehearsal for life

2007-05-11T22:47:00.000-04:00

Commemoration Delegation

2007-04-22T11:00:00.000-04:00

Mr. dd set aside 24 hours of his life to interview people on Monument Ave regarding their feelings about the Robert E. Lee Monument. It also happened to be Confederate Commemoration Day which wound up being a gathering of all the Sons and Daughters of the Confederacy from the Mid-Atlantic Region. It was a warm day and I was concerned some of the octogenarian re-enactors would suffer from heat stroke in their gray wool uniforms.

When I was a child the Civil War always seemed to be part of another era for me - a time that didn't affect my life... well that was before I moved to Virginia. As a born and bred Southerner who has made my way in and out of many foreign lands throughout my life - usually alone - I consider myself as much a wanna-be expatriot as an American these days... a somewhat worldly person... until someone begins to make fun of these strange confederate re-enactors! Its a strange reaction... I don't understand it myself. Perhaps its just genetic. Many men in my family fought in that war and none of them had slaves... I have little or nothing in common with most of these people parading down the Avenue. I don't dig NASCAR or motorcycles or civil war romance novels.... and I am sure we probably vote very differently on most everything.... still... I believe they have the right to gather and commemorate their ancestors and I don't think its funny. I don't really get them, but I don't think its funny.
My husband believes that the great poet Robbie Burns inspired the southerners of Scotch-Irish Descendents to fight for states rights during the "great war." As long as it's been and as much water has passed under the bridge since that time our nation has really never come to terms with this part of our history... for me it's just one more clue as to why the conflicts in Iraq and elsewhere never really heal. Class, race and religion are the fuel of most political fires... and not topics most political parties support their platforms with.
One woman we know suggested that instead of interviewing people at Mr. Lee's Monument he interview people at the new tri-city International Slavery Reconciliation Monument in Shockoe Bottom. An excellent suggestion except he would have to approach people with windshield wiper tools at the intersections to get them to stop and talk. That Monument is placed in the middle of a very heavily trafficked piece of roadway.

My favorite response was from an older African American gentleman. He said "Its just a man on a horse."

Finally, as a big SUV circled the Monument - as it is in the middle of a European-style round- a-bout - the young black man inside yelled out "I'm Free, Free at Last!" I thought to myself well that's another blessing we can count. We're all free - for the time being, anyway.

accepting the unthinkable

2007-04-17T10:21:00.000-04:00

There were many discussions about our nation's gun laws in our home last night. I once considered myself a pacifist but does a pacifist protect oneself and others? Can someone who exercises self defense be a pacifist? We don't like watching violence in television or film though I love the Sopranos. My husband doesn't.

A friend who was here last night working on my computer while CNN and MSNBC blared on the tube is a libertarian of sorts and he said that a similiar situation had been averted at JMU years ago because someone in their library had a gun and shot the gunman before he could kill any more people. Only one person died as a result and JMU is the one campus in Virginia that allows guns on campus. I don't think that is the answer but its an argument that I didn't anticipate.

Mr. dd and I both have a very hard time watching and anticipating violence. We covered our eyes during much of the film Pan's Labrynth because we didn't expect it. (I don't read reviews before I see a film. They usually reveal too much.) Anticipating violence changes everything. Do we need to live our life in a way where we anticipate the unthinkable?

We have a locked gate at the entrance to our property. I know some of our neighbors probably think we aren't very neighborly but we welcome THEM... its the solicitors and the unexpected appearance of crazies or miscreants we discourage! I am one of those southern girls who has deprogrammed myself from opening my door to anyone who shows up at it. That's a lesson I learned the hard way, believe me.

Its pointless to analyze what happened at Virginia Tech until all the evidence is in... but one thing is certain in my mind - classes should have been canceled after the first two murders with the person still at large. One big problem with todays news media is that one rarely hears of disaster averted by those who take extreme precaution. Those are the stories I'd like to hear. The kids that barricaded the doors of their classrooms are the real heroes on that campus.

How do we address the unthinkable? The horror? How does one prepare for such things? I know I can't expect anyone to protect me. I learned that when I was mugged in Barcelona. There were many people around me that could have stopped the mugger I was chasing. No heroes there. No one tried to trip him or block his path. Life ain't like it is in the movies until its too late... and then its a made for TV movie.

premonition of another time

2007-04-16T13:37:00.000-04:00

Mr. dd and I attended The Devolution of Chuck Statler, Part 2 on Sat night. Chuck is known as the Godfather of music video and he was the keynote speaker at the local film festival.

He grew up with the Devo guys and produced their initial moving promos in super 8 and eventually went on to produce videos for Madness, Elvis Costello, Tiny Tim and others. I enjoyed seeing these blasts from the past but also wondered if it was the best use of my time. I'd rather be looking forward than back these days and this part of history doesn't even really seem like history yet. Hell, we're gonna see Elvis Costello in a few weeks at a music festival we attend each year. I'll be curious to see if he really fixed the gap in his teeth. I don't remember him having one and he certainly did when he first started out. (Again, is this the best expense of my time? Elvis would certainly prefer that I bop along to his catchy pop tunes but this is the stuff that occupies one's mind when they aren't really present.)

There seem to be a lot of former rock and rollers surfacing these days. The former roadie for the Beatles just resigned as the CEO of Apple (the Beatle's Apple), there was a story in esquire on catching product plagiarists and one the investigator was a former attorney for a number of R&R acts. There is certainly a place for R&R in my heart but I think I had rather listen to it and dance to it than look back at the good ole days when sex, drugs and rock-n-roll were a lot more fun and the risks of having too much fun seemed as foreign as the film "Go Ask Alice."

hug the ones you love

2007-04-16T00:01:00.000-04:00

I follow a number of photography blogs though I haven't updated my links in quite awhile. I just read this post and feel such empathy for this family. 2006 was a terrible year for so many people... but time doesn't stand still and as much as we make plans that anticipate future events it is, at best, at feeble attempt.

Life is short. Art is long.

taking time to smell something other than the coffee

2007-04-10T14:49:00.000-04:00

taxes, spring cleaning, meeting deadlines, marking calendars, attending and traveling to weddings, meeting print schedules, finishing freelance projects, grading, gardening, teaching, building, planning, petting, caretaking, daughtering, wifeing (barely), but most important... WALKING. it is a constant in our life... more than coming and going to work or even art making.

it is the thing that gets us from place to place and from a foul mood to a better one. i don't know how i cannot walk when it is the best option. i felt a little guilty on sunday when an old boyfriend asked me about one of our cars - which is sitting in an undriveable state and it has been for quite a long while. somehow i wound up explaining our love of walking (to divert attention from my negligence) and that we wouldn't even own a car if we it wasn't a necessity for reasons I won't go into (this is all true!) i realized as i was saying this that i was dissing his way of life and his livlihood...which wasn't intended. hey, my dad must have a car. transportation is essential for personal freedom whether its a good pair of shoes or reliable transportation. I prefer human powered transportation or public transportation whenever conditions are appropriate!

but, i'll tell ya... one can't smell the wysteria or the bartlett pear trees surrounding fountain lake if one is enclosed in a metal box on wheels. it serves its purpose but it certainly isn't the only way to get around and it is often not the best way to get around... for us, anyway.

Good Friday 1984

2007-04-06T08:37:00.000-04:00

I was a grad student in Ohio in 1984 - madly in love with a young man from the region, and sharing a big bungalowish style house him and4 or 5 other people. We worked late on the previous night, Thursday. Not unusual. I was up all night every other night for most of the early eighties since I was a full-time student and usually working two or three jobs in addition to my classes and studio work.

Early that morning someone knocked on our bedroom door. We ignored it thinking it was one of our roomates. They knocked again, saying tearfully, its me, P. (my boyfriend's younger brother). I can't remember if he came inside or not. The futon took up most of the floorspace in that bedroom and we probably weren't wearing PJ's. All I remember is BF's brother telling us of their cousin's death the night before.

Tracey was a lovely 19 or 20 year old, the favored cousin of all the brothers in BF's family. She had been hit by two trains in a freak accident. They think she saw the slow moving train but not the fast moving train. She crossed the tracks and the fast train knocked her car down the tracks and then the slow moving train knocked it the other direction. I can't imagine the pain her mother must have felt in identifying her. She was a very beautiful girl... inside and out. Total goodness... gone.

The BF is long gone from my life but I think of his cousin Tracey every Good Friday and wonder how her family is doing. They were one of those unique families that enjoyed each other's company. Her parents and practically grown siblings would get together and play cards or board games around the kitchen table and laugh all night. They didn't drink anything stronger than diet coke. It was an alien experience for me at the time... but I admired them tremendously.

My family members endured each other's company growing up. Contempt for each other is sort of built into our genes. Its unfortunate, really. I love them all and I know they love me but we don't share much in common. C'est la vie.

moi mamaw

2007-04-03T23:01:00.000-04:00

My grandmother is 87 years old today. She's a tough bird, as described in the link embedded in the title to this post. Her father, who I never met, is described as being a lot like her - very ornery as he crept into his 80's. My Dad said he would bitch and complain all the time but was always productive. He would sit on the back porch and snap peas and kill flies with a fly swatter (He called it a fly flapper!) After he finished snapping peas he would collect all the flies and feed them to the chickens!

My grandmother is so ornery because she spends her days sitting under flurescent lights with a
drop ceiling and a TV set. She uses a walker to get to her meals and she plays bingo several days a week. She wins a lot and always gives the money back!

I called her today to wish her Happy Birthday. She's a little deaf but we had a great conversation anyway. She's always inspired me to be a better gardener (I am a lazy gardener) but I must admit I love it. She would be less ornery and feel better if she could garden... if she could put her hands in the dirt. She told my dad she felt closest to God when her hands were in the soil. I love that about her.

Spring cleaning

2007-03-27T15:52:00.000-04:00

Things come and go. Our downstairs fridge exhaled its last breath and I've decided to replace it with a compact. Our alley clean up is next month so it is a good time to drag the old one behind the house and wait for it to disappear.

Once the old one is gone, well, then there is the task of cleaning behind it... and situating the new one in its place. This is the time to raise the curains, enjoy the view of the garden and drag out the old and replace it with something recycled, if possible. It was tough, deciding whether to buy a new smaller fridge or a second hand larger fridge. In the end, the possibility of a lower electrical bill won out - plus we are trying to buy less and buy fresh...more european and less processed. I've planted lettuce and spinach this year for the first time! I love picking the leaves from the pot and putting them directly on the plate. Yum.

We aren't very domestic, mr dd and I. We'd like to be. Better yet, we'd love to hire a wife or a husband to help us with these tasks. When Mr. dd asked me to marry him I said "Darling, I'll marry you and spend the rest of my life with you but I cannot commit to being anyone's 'wife..." He got it. He married me anyway. We manage. We manage best when we have the time and money to hire a house keeper.

oh, Mr. Green Jeans Where art thou?

2007-03-25T11:40:00.000-04:00

Gee, I never thought I'd be tagged by am 18 month old. He must be a prodigy - either that or he confused me with is Aunt!

AND SO IT IS, to the tune of Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, a few of my favorite things:

Favorite Book: this is a tough one. Most recent fav: The Time Traveler's Wife

Favorite Number: Seven

Favorite Foods: a really great sheep cheese

Favorite PBS Show: Art 21

Favorite Playtime: mornings in the garden

Favorite Hugger: Mr. DD

Favorite Toy: new video to digital converter so we can transfer our old videos to DVD format

Favorite Partner in Crime: my mermaid friend

Favorite Winter Activity: time in the studio or kitchen

Favorite Color: payne's gray

Favorite Room to run around in: oh, the bedroom!

Favorite Beverage: a good pinot noir

Favorite Animal: it would be choice between my two feline friends

Favorite N0-No: shoe shopping

Favorite Monster: my appetite for travel

Eyeballing the future

2007-03-21T10:03:00.000-04:00

above: charcoal study of a Thomas Eakins drawing by one of my students

It was time. My eyes haven't been examined by anyone other than a DMV employee since I was a pre-teen. My need for "readers" has progressed from my newspaper read in the am to really most all of the time. I can't talk to people at social events without their faces being fuzzy. I like to see what I'm eating. Whether I use glasses or not in the studio depends on what I'm working on.

And this isn't good. Readers are designed for reading and as they are sliding down my nose while driving and looking and lecturing and teaching it is becoming conspicuous. Yesterday I met with an optometrist. My eyes were examined, scanned, dialated, illuminated, tested (etc) and it was determined that yes, I am losing my long distance vision as well. And no, I don't have complications due to diabetes, etc, etc. I'm glad to know its "normal" but sad that this is something that I am told is irreversible.

It was explained to me that the lens is like an onion skin in reverse and each year a new layer is added to it making it less pliable and less capable of focusing. All you readers out there - anyone know a cure or therapy for "old age" eyes? I'd try just about anything! My french friends do exercises that they swear by but I don't think anyone's eyes have reexperienced the glory of youth yet.

PS. HAPPY SPRING!

Cheers! May your friends dance by your side and your enemies limp so you can see them coming...

2007-03-02T09:18:00.000-05:00

Or as the Greeks say "salut and death to your enemies!" The global round of cheers came last night while a fellow pisces celebrated her birthday at one of the "hipper" eating establishments in the hood. She invited an interesting collection of women to come and toast her 49th year. My pork loin was excellent and everything looked and smelled perfect. She received some thoughtful gifts and gave out amazing party favors. It was a very civilized and pleasant evening and in some ways very sobering!

Mr. Beloved was down the street with a bartender buddy pow wowing about something of great portent. He arrived home shortly after I but in a very wobbly state indeed! Oh, he was oblivious to it but he was wearing an Andy Capp with minimal grace. Andy may have slept on the couch but at least he could hold his liquore. Mr. Beloved was puking over the sounds of Keith Olberman's Countdown. Too bad. I was hoping he'd notice that the cats and I were waiting for him to come to bed. sigh.

More years than I want to remember I was celebrating a birthday or maybe it was a holiday with a group of friends who were all a little older than me but who share my sense of adventure. We took off one night after work (I was a night cashier in a large union grocery chain.) Everyone was in a celebratory mood. I was 16 or 17 going on 26. We began the evening at the Mattress (not ON it!); a former Mattress Factory, the Mat was a white boys version of a juke joint on the outskirts of town. We sauntered into the dark and heard an early version of this amazing band.
Most of all we were surprised to hear Charlie J. (the blonde in the aviator shades) playing his harmonica in front since Charlie wasn't much older than I was and he was already notorious for his eccentric habits. I don't remember much about that smoke filled shack except that I hated leaving. It was always amuseing to read the graffiti written in the dust-covered Buicks and Fords in the parking lot... "Les, will you SKK my dKK, and Jamie, U can come too!" etc, etc. Dust Graffiti... is so ZEN! Another delta resident remembers the same night and tells the story on this link.

Afterwards the boys in our group weren't ready to go home but it was too late to buy more beer. They knew of an afterhours place they'd take us to. What's an afterhours place I wondered?

We wound up at this place in the pitch black of night. It was the first time I was one of the few white faces in a crowd although it was so dark inside it probably didn't matter to anyone but me. It felt like I was being stared at - either because I was white or under age or a combo of both. One thing I now know - it was the same juke joint described in the article linked above and I'm so happy to know it is still entertaining the locals near Merigold.

We left with beer in tow and whoever was driving managed to drive us into a ditch beside one of the dirt roads one still takes to find the place. It was very dark, very early in the am and raining! We laughed but it was very dismal. Eventually a hero approached us from the horizon. I can't count the number of times farmers have saved me... moew times than I can keep track of. We all piled into the back of a generous farmer's truck. I arrived at my friend's around dawn to find out that the emergency brake on my Dodge Dart had slipped and it had rolled into the street. I can't remember if it was towed or ticketed or both. It was one of those epic evenings where I was pretty sober but overwhelmed by the vastness of possibilities... even in our little part of the world. If you look at the map of Mississippi included in the NYC article I grew up on hwy 61 between Clarksdale and Merigold.

I miss the friends I had then... especially Kellie M. I wasn't hanging out with her that night but she would have had something to say about it. She grew up in Merigold and I think by the time she was 16 she had just seen it all. She was always an old soul with a heart of gold. She would be a great teacher if she were alive today.

Most of my highschool friends live elsewhere now. California, Memphis, Atlanta, Virginia, New York. There is one thing about the south that I'll always love. If you avoid the box stores (the Walmarts, etc) you'll find that it's not as homogenized as the rest of the US. I'm always ISO of authenticity wherever I go.

Anyone interested in the history of "jook" should check out Birney Ime's great "Juke Joints". Of course the House of Blues used this book as the design source for their interiors (true story)... but what they hey. At least they got close to the source.

Mood Music

2007-03-01T15:07:00.000-05:00

I found an art blog more eclectic than mine with the file above embedded. Someone commented on his blog asking if this clip was posted in honor of President's Day...