well...this is the third post and I still haven't looked at little Harrison's latest photos...my first grandson..my first granddaughter being the doll of dolls...this guy is the dude of dudes...yahoo
going on about my heartthrob...who knows I exist but does I cherish the footprint he leaves in the sand...perhaps...perhaps I was waiting to express to myself that he and the grocery clerk are of a simile..something I so want for myself...and you know...what I'm about...clarifying why it is it isn't...phone rings...I answer, it's Lisa another burger at the Inn...for Diana, but I think I could...I would like to...that, somewhere somehow...do you have to have definition like that in your life...I think that I should friend Rene because it's uncivil not to...and so...just randomly jotting down things but the mainthing was that I cried the other day that I wasn't actively flirting with this fellow and I should have but I didn't and I feel bad that I did not...just played it out in my head and wished and hoped and did the dusty springfield routine without the field of daisies, I even had that once, the field of daisies...on the mountainside in the Blue Ridge...I know the greeting card moment and I look at him and there it is but with him it was the ride on the big wave when you're reeling in the big fish and the boat is rocking under your feet...up and down...I don't get seasick...I like to fish...
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
peeyew what a kee rappy day today...
there was something I was absolutely convinced would be a topic to blog about but now I'm sitting here I have no idea what that was, or what I could say...maybe it was about the self-indulgent ramblings of a former heroin addict...I say self-indulgent because to listen to her ramble on tape about her voyage to self-realization I realize that it's all about her...she's fierce about her mother love but when it comes down to it..she is not one who cares about anyone else in her life? not really her thing...how she feels about her siblings...eh...doesn't care that much
you get so you know, observe, listen...when folks are endearing and endeared to their family... and that is about that...who's a what? hmm...as it goes...can't really get into that now...that self-focused routine... I kind of got lost, listening to the hum and the rhythm of the day unfolding - it's after 1 almost two in the afternoon, the kind of time when if you've fallen in love you might just be waking up, or if at work, only two hours to go until quitting time (about) or like me, feet are damp, fire is cresting to a warm glow at home, here's just getting going, massages going on, testing the new laptop...ah the familiar routine, thinking about food what a wonderful thing it is, the best of the steamed vegs last night, with Hollandaise, that really makes'em good...I think...there goes Louise's old car, didn't see who was driving it, hehe..I am wearing these godawful men's glasses...but I can see out of them well enough to recognize faces in the cars passing by (like why would I want to know that?) and so there's a huddle of women in the massage room because the heat is on in there...oh yes...the little bagel and cream cheese wasn't enough for me...I need more...sustenance
like the pants I painted that said 'thou restored' which I wore in New York and there was a dance troupe in central park and I walked right by them in the 'pants'...and up the stairs of the metropolitan museum and so on into the night here comse a rather grim faced woman bo02682N from brematon
but they drive away because 'we are closed', oh no he's trying to park it...hmmm
I'll just have to ignore him and let it go...
w
I stop with the italics...perhaps this individual topic thing is going to get me in the end and I'll display myself as insensitive as the character on the trail...my mother, well...it's my children, there's the thing...bundles of them and animals too...right now, the cat on my lap is keeping my weggswarm...I call them my 'weggs' when I talk to the woggins and the kitty...dog is of course 'woggins'...and when I'm walking the wogs I am walking on my weggs...because that's how it is...a bit richard adamsy...that but there it is..sang froid
never really sure about sang froid, done with frankness, candor, innocence one thinks it means
one hopes that is so for my German is appalling...SUCH As IT IS and learning this keyboard...my friend the caudel king...you think of the caudel as the block...but its the keyboard language for the computer..WE HAD a DRILL today...man that cap stays stuck on large..hehe
tsunami it was a drill for that, if we get it, well it'll be interesting but then, so is this crappy rain we're currently having, yeschh...don't like it but it is here and there's maui across the sea warm breezes and so on...but residency there, would it not be boringh, I'm thinking this chick with the penchant for describing other people's m;isery, eh...she did talk about her own blisters with some accord...ya and duh...then there was this big black bear who came along and went boo and she blew a whistle on him...right on...ah...I'm getting to my topic..
slowly, surely...she rides down the little hill on her bicycle and all I can think is she stole the keys to my house...she imitates me, she stands in for me when the paychecks are distributed, I've lost my property, my vehicle...and she texted me this morning 'we cancelled the card'...duh...ya think...
she buys four hundred dollar sneakers...she uses meth...she keeps cruising by the place where it is souled..and helps herself and then comes home to Mother...more able to deal with the constant criticism...she used to steal the car keys and the wallets of whoseever pocket had been emptied...I studied that...I wondered did the parents know...this is screwy dudes? well they did of course and I wanted to help because I knew them for so long...she lived in my house...now I see it as an evil omen if she is around..it's like someone put pants on my dog for crying out loud...I can't handle it...the dog was shaking, shivering...I guess they had tried to do that...but there's no escape...it can't be done...you have to live in the shelter of the crimean fear...the dark sea, the gentle tea glass...the languages...the space race...the f yu up you are...and eventually the tanning hide will give up the last of itself...the phone rings..
I don't have to try to be positive, I am naturally that, living int he woods as I do...it's not about me, the topic, rather the sense of who's the animal..eh
you get so you know, observe, listen...when folks are endearing and endeared to their family... and that is about that...who's a what? hmm...as it goes...can't really get into that now...that self-focused routine... I kind of got lost, listening to the hum and the rhythm of the day unfolding - it's after 1 almost two in the afternoon, the kind of time when if you've fallen in love you might just be waking up, or if at work, only two hours to go until quitting time (about) or like me, feet are damp, fire is cresting to a warm glow at home, here's just getting going, massages going on, testing the new laptop...ah the familiar routine, thinking about food what a wonderful thing it is, the best of the steamed vegs last night, with Hollandaise, that really makes'em good...I think...there goes Louise's old car, didn't see who was driving it, hehe..I am wearing these godawful men's glasses...but I can see out of them well enough to recognize faces in the cars passing by (like why would I want to know that?) and so there's a huddle of women in the massage room because the heat is on in there...oh yes...the little bagel and cream cheese wasn't enough for me...I need more...sustenance
like the pants I painted that said 'thou restored' which I wore in New York and there was a dance troupe in central park and I walked right by them in the 'pants'...and up the stairs of the metropolitan museum and so on into the night here comse a rather grim faced woman bo02682N from brematon
but they drive away because 'we are closed', oh no he's trying to park it...hmmm
I'll just have to ignore him and let it go...
w
I stop with the italics...perhaps this individual topic thing is going to get me in the end and I'll display myself as insensitive as the character on the trail...my mother, well...it's my children, there's the thing...bundles of them and animals too...right now, the cat on my lap is keeping my weggswarm...I call them my 'weggs' when I talk to the woggins and the kitty...dog is of course 'woggins'...and when I'm walking the wogs I am walking on my weggs...because that's how it is...a bit richard adamsy...that but there it is..sang froid
never really sure about sang froid, done with frankness, candor, innocence one thinks it means
one hopes that is so for my German is appalling...SUCH As IT IS and learning this keyboard...my friend the caudel king...you think of the caudel as the block...but its the keyboard language for the computer..WE HAD a DRILL today...man that cap stays stuck on large..hehe
tsunami it was a drill for that, if we get it, well it'll be interesting but then, so is this crappy rain we're currently having, yeschh...don't like it but it is here and there's maui across the sea warm breezes and so on...but residency there, would it not be boringh, I'm thinking this chick with the penchant for describing other people's m;isery, eh...she did talk about her own blisters with some accord...ya and duh...then there was this big black bear who came along and went boo and she blew a whistle on him...right on...ah...I'm getting to my topic..
slowly, surely...she rides down the little hill on her bicycle and all I can think is she stole the keys to my house...she imitates me, she stands in for me when the paychecks are distributed, I've lost my property, my vehicle...and she texted me this morning 'we cancelled the card'...duh...ya think...
she buys four hundred dollar sneakers...she uses meth...she keeps cruising by the place where it is souled..and helps herself and then comes home to Mother...more able to deal with the constant criticism...she used to steal the car keys and the wallets of whoseever pocket had been emptied...I studied that...I wondered did the parents know...this is screwy dudes? well they did of course and I wanted to help because I knew them for so long...she lived in my house...now I see it as an evil omen if she is around..it's like someone put pants on my dog for crying out loud...I can't handle it...the dog was shaking, shivering...I guess they had tried to do that...but there's no escape...it can't be done...you have to live in the shelter of the crimean fear...the dark sea, the gentle tea glass...the languages...the space race...the f yu up you are...and eventually the tanning hide will give up the last of itself...the phone rings..
I don't have to try to be positive, I am naturally that, living int he woods as I do...it's not about me, the topic, rather the sense of who's the animal..eh
Monday, October 15, 2012
Spacey in The Shrink
I borrowed a video from the library called The Shrink. It featured Kevin Spacey as a Los Angeles psychiatrist with clients involved in show business. He was forever wandering back lost to the suicide of his wife, a grieving process he finally enlightened himself about after much personal suffering. The moral of the story, so to speak, was that you have to pick yourself up and go on when you lose someone. He found himself over and over again lying on the floor, the couch, the lounge chair by the pool, but he didn't realize when he found himself in those places that he was actually finding himself as he had become since his wife had died. He wasn't able to see through his loss to the otherside of his life, where he would begin to live without her.
It begs the question of what was their marriage like, the shrink and his wife.
The movie doesn't elaborate on the married life of the psychiatrist, it only goes into the depth of his despair. He doesn't connect to loving his wife as much as he does the losing of her through death. He cannot cope with the death and so he becomes like her, returning to dust, through the excessive use of mind altering substances which his family feel and attempt an intervention because of, cloud his judgment. He is, however, a realistic man and finds that once he understands what his grief is doing to him, he is able to pick up the pieces and continue his life, initiating contact with a potential girl friend, wearing pajamas to bed instead of falling into it still clothed for the previous day.
The Shrink is an interesting movie because it details what exactly our process is in terms of coping with grief. We have tears, we have an overwhelming feeling of sorrow, but what we cannot face is what we feel about what has happened to us. We try our best to blot it out but it is not until we face the reality of the circumstances: our true love has gone, our child, our parent..whatever the issue, then we are able to adjust to it, make it a part of our life. Until we are able to grasp the terms of the despair we feel...we cannot make any adjustment to it. Who knows how long it takes for an individual to come to this realization. It is as though we wrap ourselves in a great bundle of wool, something that insulates us, coccoons us, holds us in its cloudy web, until we begin to see the faint light of our reason coming to terms with the blow it has been dealt.
Some of us come upon this despair daily. These are the mentally depressed among us. For them the cloudy wool of our existence never truly leaves, but clots all reason with the condition of despair, that we may cling to that and not to the daily routine of our lives. We find we have no reason to have that daily routine. It matters little if the dust on the furniture deepens...we're not obliged to reason with that...it's there...so what... So it was with Spacey's psychiatrist character. He moved onward, you didn't see him frying any bacon...popping up some toast...he merely went forward with a sandwich shoved in his face...He was stopping up the grief with a little analgesic pastrami but it wasn't sizzling in the pan and giving up a wonderful aroma..it was merely there.
It takes a while to come to terms with grief. I prefer to think of grieve as the kidneys metabolizing and processing the eternal waste of the human soul..they've got a job to do, fluids, diuretic inducing foods, it helps somewhat but the main thing to do is to think positive about the daily routine...keep motivated to sweep, launder, dust, tidy, organize...and then contemplate what little thing has been accomplished, see it as the reality of your life. Little by little you can build on these daily accomplishments and see that they add up to a reality that coexists with grief, takes from it only the necessary, adjusts to the positive outcome. It takes a while, it becomes a matter of thought then, and the mind, the human mind, accepts that there is still a soul within the body, that the soul does not truly wish to join the great unknown just yet, it has not accepted the defeat of the love lost...or whatever has happened. It will continue.
the process of acceptance is truly a time consuming ritual. IT involves being good to yourself among other things...putting the fudge sauce on the ice cream...wearing the warm socks...smiling at yourself in the mirror..laughing...
It begs the question of what was their marriage like, the shrink and his wife.
The movie doesn't elaborate on the married life of the psychiatrist, it only goes into the depth of his despair. He doesn't connect to loving his wife as much as he does the losing of her through death. He cannot cope with the death and so he becomes like her, returning to dust, through the excessive use of mind altering substances which his family feel and attempt an intervention because of, cloud his judgment. He is, however, a realistic man and finds that once he understands what his grief is doing to him, he is able to pick up the pieces and continue his life, initiating contact with a potential girl friend, wearing pajamas to bed instead of falling into it still clothed for the previous day.
The Shrink is an interesting movie because it details what exactly our process is in terms of coping with grief. We have tears, we have an overwhelming feeling of sorrow, but what we cannot face is what we feel about what has happened to us. We try our best to blot it out but it is not until we face the reality of the circumstances: our true love has gone, our child, our parent..whatever the issue, then we are able to adjust to it, make it a part of our life. Until we are able to grasp the terms of the despair we feel...we cannot make any adjustment to it. Who knows how long it takes for an individual to come to this realization. It is as though we wrap ourselves in a great bundle of wool, something that insulates us, coccoons us, holds us in its cloudy web, until we begin to see the faint light of our reason coming to terms with the blow it has been dealt.
Some of us come upon this despair daily. These are the mentally depressed among us. For them the cloudy wool of our existence never truly leaves, but clots all reason with the condition of despair, that we may cling to that and not to the daily routine of our lives. We find we have no reason to have that daily routine. It matters little if the dust on the furniture deepens...we're not obliged to reason with that...it's there...so what... So it was with Spacey's psychiatrist character. He moved onward, you didn't see him frying any bacon...popping up some toast...he merely went forward with a sandwich shoved in his face...He was stopping up the grief with a little analgesic pastrami but it wasn't sizzling in the pan and giving up a wonderful aroma..it was merely there.
It takes a while to come to terms with grief. I prefer to think of grieve as the kidneys metabolizing and processing the eternal waste of the human soul..they've got a job to do, fluids, diuretic inducing foods, it helps somewhat but the main thing to do is to think positive about the daily routine...keep motivated to sweep, launder, dust, tidy, organize...and then contemplate what little thing has been accomplished, see it as the reality of your life. Little by little you can build on these daily accomplishments and see that they add up to a reality that coexists with grief, takes from it only the necessary, adjusts to the positive outcome. It takes a while, it becomes a matter of thought then, and the mind, the human mind, accepts that there is still a soul within the body, that the soul does not truly wish to join the great unknown just yet, it has not accepted the defeat of the love lost...or whatever has happened. It will continue.
the process of acceptance is truly a time consuming ritual. IT involves being good to yourself among other things...putting the fudge sauce on the ice cream...wearing the warm socks...smiling at yourself in the mirror..laughing...
Friday, September 14, 2012
lazy friday afternoon
the cars are passing to and fro, the roadwork has stopped but the yellow lines are not on there yet..this week has been fraught with stalled traffic while the road crew laid rock and then tar, and we waited. at the minimart I got stuck through two passes of the traffic back into the town because the stop sign holder ignored us all waiting there patiently and the other cars were allowed to pass us by. that was the way that I was going berry picking but since it took a half hour to just get to the minimart and look for my berry picking partner, I gave it up and moved lumber under the deck instead. I did get a fence built as well so it wasn't a total loss. the weather has been so glorious it's been a challenge to do anything but just be out in it and feel the warmth. i'm still hanging clothes on the line but I keep feeling like this may be the last time I do that. I've been to the ocean at neah bay, eaten pizza with my friend and did some shopping at Washburns where I got the yogurt special, some meats, some chips...the usual...oh yeah, a package of mushrooms, yum...
I finished a book, the Friday Night Knitting Club which was good until it got too sad and I finished it but I wasn't happy that the story turned out the way it did. Watched a movie Guess Who with Ashton Kutcher and the black guy I call Benny Truax but don't think that's the guy's name. It was billed as a comedy but to me it wasn't funny at all...when you tell a joke it's supposed to be funny but kutcher got in big trouble with his fiancee's family because the jokes were about black people and they just got really uptight with him. I don't know that he's such a funny guy anyway...Space Aliens took my Car was probably his funniest movie, Kutcher...now there was a bit of silly comedy worth laughing about..
Also watched some of Platoon, again...revisiting the Viet Nam saga..
have to go outside now and lie in the sun or start moving around instead of sitting here in front of the computer, hmmm...
I finished a book, the Friday Night Knitting Club which was good until it got too sad and I finished it but I wasn't happy that the story turned out the way it did. Watched a movie Guess Who with Ashton Kutcher and the black guy I call Benny Truax but don't think that's the guy's name. It was billed as a comedy but to me it wasn't funny at all...when you tell a joke it's supposed to be funny but kutcher got in big trouble with his fiancee's family because the jokes were about black people and they just got really uptight with him. I don't know that he's such a funny guy anyway...Space Aliens took my Car was probably his funniest movie, Kutcher...now there was a bit of silly comedy worth laughing about..
Also watched some of Platoon, again...revisiting the Viet Nam saga..
have to go outside now and lie in the sun or start moving around instead of sitting here in front of the computer, hmmm...
Saturday, September 1, 2012
The Island
just read that book by Elin Hildebrand and it was a good one for a bus trip to Bellingham. I started it out remembering living on the East Coast but I hadn't been to New Caanan although I'd been through Jersey a time or two and knew people from Hoboken when I was at St. Martin's. These guys in the story take their summer home in Cape cod at Nantucket, next island out apparently for a month in summer. There's all kinds of marital stuff in the story, people loving each other since they were seventeen, one gal, one daughter, falling for a budding rock star, the other daughter, shaving of heads, rock star lover's daughter, mother the very good cook and sister/auntie with the name India...which we just saw Gone with the Wind after hmm, can't say when I last saw THAT, but there's an India Wilkes in Gone wit hthe Wind and would youname a child after a name in a movie? I don't about India, naming a kid that, but she was and she was with the Philadelphia art stuff...I am not going into detail here about that and don't need clarification other than to say our gallery was named Madams Organ...and now there's a bar named Madams Organ and I had an art exhibit at Madams Organ and it was called 'Radical Surfaces Changing' and it was reviewed in the Washington Post...so that's my story and I'm sticking to it...I wore a chiffon number black and white from the fifties and a beaded Indian (again as above) necklace looked Chippewa maybe and had my hair in a french roll for the opening...Vigo played and there was no audience so he played an hour and then he said he'd be going and I said fine, them's the breaks kiddo so he went
I stuck with The Island through the three days at my son's house, between this that and the other and I saved the very end of the book for the trip back but I'd had it finished before the ferry docked in Port townsend. The last line of the story was 'okay baby okay' so I was left to interpret how the rock star dude gets back to real time with the pawn he created in his brother's fiancee...I never know why these happen but they do I guess..what I remember in college was it was my boyfriend's ROOMMATE, Freeley, that I was as nuts about as this gal's fiance's brother...Freeley who said something about me...like heknew..like she in the book knew...like that was it..that was the connection...that was the one you could love...Iknew that about Freeley...and Freeley left college..we found him parking cars in a lot in Seattle. Freeley, my heart hummed and sang with it...and he became a lawyer...the stud muffin...he wasn't anyting in the campus movers and shakers just a regular guy but one that made my heart spin...just now, remembering it...there he is, causing a ziiinnnggggg...to recall it...oh yeah and I saw his car..that goofy thing he drove all wings in the back...with the spare tire in its own little casket on the trunk, shorter than the big impalas of the day, more like a studebaker in design but that wasn't it..and I saw one in Bellingham and I thought, Freeley...well, I didn't like myname then, back in the days of Freeley, it was Higgins and we were at Catholic school, and Freeley didn't last he dropped out because as I gathered it, he didn't want to get into his roommates way with me, which was really unfortunate because that guy turned out to try and run my life, like why the character in Island has to ditch him and break the engagement...I didn't get that chance but there it was...and in my life Freeley went back to seattle and his mother worked for Senator Magnuson...I knew that much...I looked him up...Freeley, the guy with the cool hair and Irish freckles like me...that was the first big crush I'd had..the serious one, him, Freeley...and Island..the Island, the story, is exactly what Imight have done were the situation a little different than it was...but Freeley knew he and I had been built out of the same magnet that went ZAP...when two people met like we did first days of college...him talking like he was just ordinary cool and me like I know there was a million other women in the world that might get to first base with Freeley before I did...and then he was gone, something about 'tell that Karin girl''..and I never knew what, tell me what...whew...I don't know that I ever betrayed myself because I was attached with all kinds of obligations to Freeley's roommate..and I was really never interested in him the wayI felt about Freeley...it was always Freeley and Freeley went off to Seattle and I've never seen him again...and it was Freeley that I loved...and though I think it'd be great if I got postcard that said 'okay baby okay'...that happenedin 1969...so you know...that was a while ago...maybe I'm just reflecting on romances and glad that there was the post card in this story...Freeley the last time I saw him he was in a navy jumpsuit in a parking garage in seattle and he hadn't cut his hair
I stuck with The Island through the three days at my son's house, between this that and the other and I saved the very end of the book for the trip back but I'd had it finished before the ferry docked in Port townsend. The last line of the story was 'okay baby okay' so I was left to interpret how the rock star dude gets back to real time with the pawn he created in his brother's fiancee...I never know why these happen but they do I guess..what I remember in college was it was my boyfriend's ROOMMATE, Freeley, that I was as nuts about as this gal's fiance's brother...Freeley who said something about me...like heknew..like she in the book knew...like that was it..that was the connection...that was the one you could love...Iknew that about Freeley...and Freeley left college..we found him parking cars in a lot in Seattle. Freeley, my heart hummed and sang with it...and he became a lawyer...the stud muffin...he wasn't anyting in the campus movers and shakers just a regular guy but one that made my heart spin...just now, remembering it...there he is, causing a ziiinnnggggg...to recall it...oh yeah and I saw his car..that goofy thing he drove all wings in the back...with the spare tire in its own little casket on the trunk, shorter than the big impalas of the day, more like a studebaker in design but that wasn't it..and I saw one in Bellingham and I thought, Freeley...well, I didn't like myname then, back in the days of Freeley, it was Higgins and we were at Catholic school, and Freeley didn't last he dropped out because as I gathered it, he didn't want to get into his roommates way with me, which was really unfortunate because that guy turned out to try and run my life, like why the character in Island has to ditch him and break the engagement...I didn't get that chance but there it was...and in my life Freeley went back to seattle and his mother worked for Senator Magnuson...I knew that much...I looked him up...Freeley, the guy with the cool hair and Irish freckles like me...that was the first big crush I'd had..the serious one, him, Freeley...and Island..the Island, the story, is exactly what Imight have done were the situation a little different than it was...but Freeley knew he and I had been built out of the same magnet that went ZAP...when two people met like we did first days of college...him talking like he was just ordinary cool and me like I know there was a million other women in the world that might get to first base with Freeley before I did...and then he was gone, something about 'tell that Karin girl''..and I never knew what, tell me what...whew...I don't know that I ever betrayed myself because I was attached with all kinds of obligations to Freeley's roommate..and I was really never interested in him the wayI felt about Freeley...it was always Freeley and Freeley went off to Seattle and I've never seen him again...and it was Freeley that I loved...and though I think it'd be great if I got postcard that said 'okay baby okay'...that happenedin 1969...so you know...that was a while ago...maybe I'm just reflecting on romances and glad that there was the post card in this story...Freeley the last time I saw him he was in a navy jumpsuit in a parking garage in seattle and he hadn't cut his hair
Saturday, November 19, 2011
back to see the baby
they come home tomorrow so I may have the house to myself yet again. yesterday I watched The Help, which we'd read for book club the month before last. It was a funny story with lots of tragedy and so forth, a good romance, she does end up with the senator but that's not truly implied here. she goes to harper and row as an editor's assistant, she lives in an antebellum sort ofhouse and her mother has had ulcers for a while. the maids have a different life, theirs is inbetweeny and transient in the way of all flesh to be subservient to their master in heaven: we should endure this because it is what we know? I doubt it. It's a back and forth story because the scary parts happened in the late fifties early sixties and now is a time for reflection on it because I don't think people really care to mix races even now. This is why I like to study British film because they don't seem to have that problem so much. I figure to learn from this how it is they are more accepting and less racially biased but then, where i am we only have the indians and it's different. It truly is. they are a different race with different cultural values but there's the citizen thing and it makes us all velveeta in the smoothness of its absorption quality. we don't really have to blame anyone for it because we don't seem to mind it at all.
and then there is the havana angle, which I wanted to get into again but now I have to go get ready to go to the hospital and I think that means having a shower and getting dressed, which I'd better get busy with since I've eaten and written about the new baby. now i'm going back to see him again and I need to call the girls and tell them what a sweetie this child is, talk to my mother and tell her as well, talk to the boys and give them my version of things..
so again away and the havana characters will remain on the stage in their roles as thunder and lightening...for now
and then there is the havana angle, which I wanted to get into again but now I have to go get ready to go to the hospital and I think that means having a shower and getting dressed, which I'd better get busy with since I've eaten and written about the new baby. now i'm going back to see him again and I need to call the girls and tell them what a sweetie this child is, talk to my mother and tell her as well, talk to the boys and give them my version of things..
so again away and the havana characters will remain on the stage in their roles as thunder and lightening...for now
Thursday, November 10, 2011
there we go, complete with blueberry muffin
interesting that this one a little different than the others..I was just about to blog my heart out on the subject of the what...? I do believe I was going to 'task' these comments, direct them to a certain end..but I've got the situation at hand with a blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of decaf..and I forget what I was going to say..hmm, there's a way to fix that but stream of consciousness writing doesn't work that way, to my way of thinking...I think was going to describe willison cottage itself..and why I call it Mermaid's Reef..and what's the big deal about that? in those terms..
ok, first off, because I'm using the mermaidonthereef blog, it's to talk about what needs done to willison cottage, what happened to it, what I'm doing to it, going to do to it (as I chomp on a muffin and sip on a coffee) and why I want to do this anyway
first of all, in summer this is a pretty magical place
the lacy fern the cottonwood, the stream, the giant yellow iris, the beach..the birds, all of it in a messy lot that lacks definition
last summer we put a fence between myself and the gallery. sue wanted to do it, I didn't have an opinion other than I love to work at things like this and so it went up. we never got to the gate but I found a big old post with hooks on one side of it where the gate slides on and now I look for fastening rings with which to set the gate panel itself. I'm not a really terrible carpenter but I'm not very skilled either. simple is good for me. there's some bundles of wire fence to skirt where the fence went high, to complete the closing in of the yard for the dogs getting out. I don't think they're about to cross the stream, they're not that kind of dog. There's little children at Sue's from time to time, they could come over and play when I have the swings and slide up. That's another plan and times I've fallen asleep dreaming of how the main beam holds the swings and the supports are notched just so to hold it up. I wasn't sure about where it went, where the swings would be placed because I have the garden space allocated now, it looks like an upside down 'L' and is being mulched and cultivated with potatoes presently. To the other side of it, where I first began, there's onions and chive competing with the wild stuff, a rugged border between it and the garden path, now lined with shingle from the roof as a paved walkway. beach grass and wild rose are in a little triangle at that side of the 'L' but they'll give way to something more modern, less primitive...some glorious bush like the camelia from the other yard, perhaps..although I like the disengenuous continuity I have so far achieved in my efforts here.
Perhaps I should describe how the yard looked before I began to rearrange it. There was enough bramble back there, garbage, water, to make me feel as though I'd never get it cleaned up. It was a wild place, it was let go..it was a torrent of disuse. The blackberry canes went everywhere and ripped at me, my clothing, my bare arms and hands, shins, wore out my tools, but I never took a chainsaw to it, I clipped it down piece by fierce piece, until it was as Sue says 'beat back'. The hydrangea rises along the fence now, the little orange lillies have distinct places or origin, there is still a lot of water grass, razor grass, wild rose, and there's a random pampas now, lots of the yellow iris, a path that divides just outside the basement door going to sue's and to the stream...where to put the swings...
I guess the swings have to wait for another time to speak to them because they should be there somewhere. I've put on a clothesline, kind of a necessity but the lines are thick rope and that won't do, not next summer. i envisioned the lines holding silkscreen printing, clothespinned on, what would I paint? it was that little orange lilly I painted on the deck..the deck that wasn't there when the house came to me...there was a big hole there then...the back door intact but the floor inside of it, nope..gone.., most of the area just disintegrated from the weather
the weather is pretty fierce, not like here in the fall, where it's cool and there's someone in the kitchen standing on the marble floor making a smoothie...the weather there does rival the canadian brunswicks I think, newfoundland, and so on...although when the sun comes out the weather is timid, frail in the sun..very kind..you can find lovely agates on the beach, they sparkle in the sun..but then, the dog runs along the water's edge and you fail to look closely and you miss a lot of them
the beach is nearby, the river's mouth is making a set to with where it wants to establish itself and so the beach has been recarved, the only way to walk it now is to go all the way down to slip point and enter there, where the road stops in front of Bob's trailer, take that path down to where the river now comes out and then walk back up again...a long haul, several miles, but if you're in the mood to do so, have a pot of soup in the crockpot and fresh bread rising, you could make a day of it easy..and listen to music when you get back, write to your kids, hmmm..I see where I was thinking about 'charming billy' and wondering why not everyone feels as happy to contemplate what one could do..living where one does
I don't feel the least bit homesick at present. I like the fact I can stand back here and reanalyze what I've done so far at the Reef...the garage is painted like a Rauschenberg wanna be project, all sorts of flamboyant color on one side, the other side a little mural of a sandpiper that reads 'welcome to clallam bay' for those returning from Neah Bay...I guess it's going to stay there, but the garage is three different aspects of consideration presently and I think I ought to pull it together some how, some day...
Under the garage is my stacks of wood to build a deck along the back. Julius scoffs at what I've got there "need some good McLanahan timber on that" he observes and doesn't want to be the brave one that climbs sue's tall ladder to attach the roughcut boards that I see going along the eves of the garage roof...I found those in the woods, I figure the wookies (sasquatch)left them for me, as their contribution to the bizarreness of what the garage has transformed into...the tin can lids, removed from the canned corn, green beans, carrots, whathave you, nailed along the yard side of the garage, along the border, like a great fish scale, something I saw in Alaska, as siding on a house..various paints there, with those scales (the tin lids)..dark wood stain, bright blue and green and splashes, two wooden paintings on that wall, a tribute to the big splasher himself..I wanna say Rothko or Portnoy but it's that one that does that paint drip so well, him...why doesn't his name come to me? I was thinking when he painted like that, he really could draw and represent what he saw, but he was talking to the processes by which we conceive our impression, working on those, and it does work, it works very well, it's so deep and mystical it defies time in its application/technique...still can't think of his name...that one anyway
yesterday it was Ken Kesey that I was thinking of...it was a little documentary of his life and times..even he looks conservative now, but he never was, never was anything but himself and his way of thinking, all to help everyone else because he had so much of it, what he had...enthusiasm, laughter, a serious side about what good is war? his magic bus now rising out of the loam on Stange's (stan geez) old farm, a rusty relic gaining momentum to fly again down the highways...a way of life we shall all embrace with open arms because there is laughter there, a place to express our emotions and not have them grow twisted in darkness..
well, I was talking about the landscape of the Reef wasn't I? or the projects, there's plenty of tile and mortar but you know it's hard to come up with the proverbial 'glue'..what do you use? mastic, has to be...and then the tiles go on, and they're rugged here and there, the kitchen counter has been decorated with them, the kitchen sink awaits a smoothing off, no granite here, just mom's filigree..and then there's cupboards from across the street old doors rescued before the pin bugs got to them, with little glass nobs and paint peeling off in great rolls, from a ceiling that sees the sky, but could be a boathouse, if we had license to do it..
the galley sink and no cupboards there but there could be, it would just quash the space I think, rather plants, growing the orchid in the steam of the sink would be a good thing, the side deck having given birth to one really nice painting called 'top of the wave' already..that impresses me that two years of study of the wave processes, how to interpret what I see in that energy of motion, the colors contained in it...it came off quite nicely..and the laundry, washer and dryer there, to contain the processes of making art, the porch itself quite sturdy thanks to Green's hammer..hehe, how nice that was to have the lumber of McLanahan, only a few dollars, and the truck hauled it all..I'd like it to be on the back side of the house as well, that same sturdiness and rugged timber, to observe the elements and the back yard
I go to the side porch in evenings to drink a beer and smoke a cigarette, the only time I sit down long enough to study what I've been doing. Mornings I might have my coffee there, definitely I have the radio on and the back door open winter or summer because I use wood heat and it flows everywhere...if I had the back deck on I'd redo the bathroom, make the present one the bathroom off the backbedroom, extend the studio onto the porch create a widow's walk above to see the river's mouth.
so there's plans but there's still no consideration of where the swings should go..and they should be somewhere in the backyard, probably where the deck ends the swings would go parallel to it..a gravel stretch beneath them...a slide at the side, as long as the path was retained
swings..and children, there has to be a set of children forever in my home..along with dogs and pizza and kittens and a handsome man to hold court there..hehe..now I am talking in lines of poetry..
whew..
ok, first off, because I'm using the mermaidonthereef blog, it's to talk about what needs done to willison cottage, what happened to it, what I'm doing to it, going to do to it (as I chomp on a muffin and sip on a coffee) and why I want to do this anyway
first of all, in summer this is a pretty magical place
the lacy fern the cottonwood, the stream, the giant yellow iris, the beach..the birds, all of it in a messy lot that lacks definition
last summer we put a fence between myself and the gallery. sue wanted to do it, I didn't have an opinion other than I love to work at things like this and so it went up. we never got to the gate but I found a big old post with hooks on one side of it where the gate slides on and now I look for fastening rings with which to set the gate panel itself. I'm not a really terrible carpenter but I'm not very skilled either. simple is good for me. there's some bundles of wire fence to skirt where the fence went high, to complete the closing in of the yard for the dogs getting out. I don't think they're about to cross the stream, they're not that kind of dog. There's little children at Sue's from time to time, they could come over and play when I have the swings and slide up. That's another plan and times I've fallen asleep dreaming of how the main beam holds the swings and the supports are notched just so to hold it up. I wasn't sure about where it went, where the swings would be placed because I have the garden space allocated now, it looks like an upside down 'L' and is being mulched and cultivated with potatoes presently. To the other side of it, where I first began, there's onions and chive competing with the wild stuff, a rugged border between it and the garden path, now lined with shingle from the roof as a paved walkway. beach grass and wild rose are in a little triangle at that side of the 'L' but they'll give way to something more modern, less primitive...some glorious bush like the camelia from the other yard, perhaps..although I like the disengenuous continuity I have so far achieved in my efforts here.
Perhaps I should describe how the yard looked before I began to rearrange it. There was enough bramble back there, garbage, water, to make me feel as though I'd never get it cleaned up. It was a wild place, it was let go..it was a torrent of disuse. The blackberry canes went everywhere and ripped at me, my clothing, my bare arms and hands, shins, wore out my tools, but I never took a chainsaw to it, I clipped it down piece by fierce piece, until it was as Sue says 'beat back'. The hydrangea rises along the fence now, the little orange lillies have distinct places or origin, there is still a lot of water grass, razor grass, wild rose, and there's a random pampas now, lots of the yellow iris, a path that divides just outside the basement door going to sue's and to the stream...where to put the swings...
I guess the swings have to wait for another time to speak to them because they should be there somewhere. I've put on a clothesline, kind of a necessity but the lines are thick rope and that won't do, not next summer. i envisioned the lines holding silkscreen printing, clothespinned on, what would I paint? it was that little orange lilly I painted on the deck..the deck that wasn't there when the house came to me...there was a big hole there then...the back door intact but the floor inside of it, nope..gone.., most of the area just disintegrated from the weather
the weather is pretty fierce, not like here in the fall, where it's cool and there's someone in the kitchen standing on the marble floor making a smoothie...the weather there does rival the canadian brunswicks I think, newfoundland, and so on...although when the sun comes out the weather is timid, frail in the sun..very kind..you can find lovely agates on the beach, they sparkle in the sun..but then, the dog runs along the water's edge and you fail to look closely and you miss a lot of them
the beach is nearby, the river's mouth is making a set to with where it wants to establish itself and so the beach has been recarved, the only way to walk it now is to go all the way down to slip point and enter there, where the road stops in front of Bob's trailer, take that path down to where the river now comes out and then walk back up again...a long haul, several miles, but if you're in the mood to do so, have a pot of soup in the crockpot and fresh bread rising, you could make a day of it easy..and listen to music when you get back, write to your kids, hmmm..I see where I was thinking about 'charming billy' and wondering why not everyone feels as happy to contemplate what one could do..living where one does
I don't feel the least bit homesick at present. I like the fact I can stand back here and reanalyze what I've done so far at the Reef...the garage is painted like a Rauschenberg wanna be project, all sorts of flamboyant color on one side, the other side a little mural of a sandpiper that reads 'welcome to clallam bay' for those returning from Neah Bay...I guess it's going to stay there, but the garage is three different aspects of consideration presently and I think I ought to pull it together some how, some day...
Under the garage is my stacks of wood to build a deck along the back. Julius scoffs at what I've got there "need some good McLanahan timber on that" he observes and doesn't want to be the brave one that climbs sue's tall ladder to attach the roughcut boards that I see going along the eves of the garage roof...I found those in the woods, I figure the wookies (sasquatch)left them for me, as their contribution to the bizarreness of what the garage has transformed into...the tin can lids, removed from the canned corn, green beans, carrots, whathave you, nailed along the yard side of the garage, along the border, like a great fish scale, something I saw in Alaska, as siding on a house..various paints there, with those scales (the tin lids)..dark wood stain, bright blue and green and splashes, two wooden paintings on that wall, a tribute to the big splasher himself..I wanna say Rothko or Portnoy but it's that one that does that paint drip so well, him...why doesn't his name come to me? I was thinking when he painted like that, he really could draw and represent what he saw, but he was talking to the processes by which we conceive our impression, working on those, and it does work, it works very well, it's so deep and mystical it defies time in its application/technique...still can't think of his name...that one anyway
yesterday it was Ken Kesey that I was thinking of...it was a little documentary of his life and times..even he looks conservative now, but he never was, never was anything but himself and his way of thinking, all to help everyone else because he had so much of it, what he had...enthusiasm, laughter, a serious side about what good is war? his magic bus now rising out of the loam on Stange's (stan geez) old farm, a rusty relic gaining momentum to fly again down the highways...a way of life we shall all embrace with open arms because there is laughter there, a place to express our emotions and not have them grow twisted in darkness..
well, I was talking about the landscape of the Reef wasn't I? or the projects, there's plenty of tile and mortar but you know it's hard to come up with the proverbial 'glue'..what do you use? mastic, has to be...and then the tiles go on, and they're rugged here and there, the kitchen counter has been decorated with them, the kitchen sink awaits a smoothing off, no granite here, just mom's filigree..and then there's cupboards from across the street old doors rescued before the pin bugs got to them, with little glass nobs and paint peeling off in great rolls, from a ceiling that sees the sky, but could be a boathouse, if we had license to do it..
the galley sink and no cupboards there but there could be, it would just quash the space I think, rather plants, growing the orchid in the steam of the sink would be a good thing, the side deck having given birth to one really nice painting called 'top of the wave' already..that impresses me that two years of study of the wave processes, how to interpret what I see in that energy of motion, the colors contained in it...it came off quite nicely..and the laundry, washer and dryer there, to contain the processes of making art, the porch itself quite sturdy thanks to Green's hammer..hehe, how nice that was to have the lumber of McLanahan, only a few dollars, and the truck hauled it all..I'd like it to be on the back side of the house as well, that same sturdiness and rugged timber, to observe the elements and the back yard
I go to the side porch in evenings to drink a beer and smoke a cigarette, the only time I sit down long enough to study what I've been doing. Mornings I might have my coffee there, definitely I have the radio on and the back door open winter or summer because I use wood heat and it flows everywhere...if I had the back deck on I'd redo the bathroom, make the present one the bathroom off the backbedroom, extend the studio onto the porch create a widow's walk above to see the river's mouth.
so there's plans but there's still no consideration of where the swings should go..and they should be somewhere in the backyard, probably where the deck ends the swings would go parallel to it..a gravel stretch beneath them...a slide at the side, as long as the path was retained
swings..and children, there has to be a set of children forever in my home..along with dogs and pizza and kittens and a handsome man to hold court there..hehe..now I am talking in lines of poetry..
whew..
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