Figuratively Speaking

A couple of days ago my mind wandered off somewhere it shouldn’t but it seems to do that a lot these days. While it was off on its little junket, it kept singing Doll Parts by Hole. The line “I want to be the girl with the most cake” from the chorus really stuck.

It stuck so tenaciously, I felt compelled to make a collage. The song is sad, tragic, and I can certainly identify with her words. So while the song is full of pain, I can see a positive spin on the refrain. Being the girl with the most cake doesn’t have to be what Love meant. It can be anything I want it to be. I like the collage so much, I think I’m going to do another version on canvas to hang in my bathroom. That’s a damn good motivator to see first thing in the morning. For me anyway.


I posted a picture of the collage on my Facebook page. My ex-boyfriend latched onto the cake part. I brought him some donuts recently. He tried to give me one and I declined. He thought I was trying to be good – as in not eating junk. I’m getting quite chunky and I’m diabetic. Then some crusty sugar fell out of the folds of my cowled blouse. Busted! He left a comment about keeping the crumbs out of my clothing. I had to laugh, partly because of the donut incident and partly because didn’t realize the cake is metaphoric. He’s not exactly a fan of Hole so he gets a pass on that one.


Then the idea of actual cake got my brain to snickering. I made another collage on the same bent but with a different message. I think I’m going to put this one on the fridge. Oh wait, there’s never any food in there. And certainly no cake. I’m safe at home, it’s at work I have to worry about. We have donuts.

A New Planner with a Purpose

I’ve spent a lot of time lately trying to get my life back on track and headed in the direction I want to go. One of the things I’ve focused on and think I’ve been doing pretty well on is being happy. Sounds like a no-brainer, right? Things are seldom as easy as they sound. I’ve always said being happy is a choice. Now I choose to live by my own words.

The other thing I’ve tried to work on is mindfulness. Yeah, another thing that sounds much simpler than it is. How often do we find ourselves going about our business not really paying attention or being “in the moment.” If you’re like most people, the answer is probably often. I joke that my ADD makes me too aware – it allows me to be distracted by every new shiny thought or . . Squirrel! . . what was I saying? I’m guilty of not paying full attention to what I am doing while I’m doing it. It may require a Herculean effort on my part to accomplish this but I’m giving it a shot. At this point in my life, I’d be happy with being mindful 50% of the time as it would be a vast improvement over where I am now.

I walked to my local Borders bookstore to buy a 2011 planner. I hated 99% of the ones I found. I finally found one that would work. It wasn’t anywhere near perfect but it was a close as I was going to get. I didn’t care for the cover and it was plastic-y so I wondered how I was going to recover it. It was also $17.99. I had a 40% off coupon but even so, I thought it was still overpriced. I wandered over to the clearance area (my own version of Kryptonite) to give it once over before checking out. There sat some fat little sketchbooks at rock bottom prices. I checked out the paper and decided they kind of sucked as a sketchbook, the paper is way too thin and slick. But – they would make awesome planners! I bought the 8”x8” and the 6”x6” because I couldn’t make up my mind which one I wanted to use. Later, I decided on the 8x8.

This is the sketchbook. The photo doesn’t quite capture the nonconducive to creativity color of the cover. It’s somewhere between ‘70’s Harvest Gold and the contents of a newborn’s diaper. Either way – ewwww. I sectioned the pages into groups for each month and a few extra sections I needed.

I made tabs for the months and the extra sections. I ran the tabs through the Xyron with the laminating/permanent adhesive cartridge in. I was rather whimsical in naming the extra sections. Evil Plans is stuff I really, really, need to pay attention to and work on. There’s also “Abracadabra” and “Hocus Pocus.”

Since the book is blank, I have to draw in everything. I like this idea better than using the standard planners. If I have to draw in the lines and write all the information myself, I will be more mindful of what I’m doing – while I’m doing it. Wow. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? Maybe it’s because . . Squirrel! . What was I saying?

Each month on the page before the month-at-a-glance view, I picked a theme for that month. January is Face. I’ve neglected taking care of my skin. It’s more than that though, the face I show the world. I often go around looking like I live under a bridge. This is not the image I want to project!

February is Love, not romantic love, it’s surrounding myself with the things I love. Adding and making time for enjoyable things with mindfulness to every day life boosts that happy factor big time. I stopped doing a lot of stuff I love because I felt other people in my life didn’t like it. Not anymore!

March is Body. Yeah, I’ve become fluffier than I’d like. I can’t squeeze my pudgy butt into half the clothes in my closet! The main thing is not my size, it’s my health. I’m diabetic and I feel better when I take care of myself. Eating healthy and exercising makes me feel better.

April (I forgot to put the word April on the page!) is Soul. I have strayed so far from where I used to be in this regard. I won’t bore you with my religion or philosophy. April’s focus will be feeding my soul and reconnecting. Since my sincere belief is that all things are connected, I suppose I never really left.

I’m not finished with the cover yet. It will be a collage of all sorts of wacky stuff that makes me happy. If the cover speaks to me, it will only add to the desire to pick it up and use it. Everyday. Mindfully. This just may turn out to be the best planner I’ve ever had.

I did start on the page for May but I didn’t take a photo yet. I don’t think I’ll go any further than that for now. One thing I was sure of is that I didn’t want to pick a theme for every month just yet. Life is on the fly, things change. I want to make sure I leave room for change, the endless possibilities that may be just around the corner. I felt like picking something now for say, August, would be like setting it in stone and who knows what might happen in June? Maybe it would alter my whole focus of where I am where I want to go. I welcome all possibilities.

Eureka

When I first caught a glimpse of the news story regarding Chris Rock's documentary "Good Hair," I had to read it. The idea he said, was started when his daughter asked him why she doesn't have good hair. I've never met Chris Rock or his daughter but in that moment my heart went out to both of them. As a parent, how do you answer that question? I don't think I've ever wanted to hug a kid I don't know as bad as wanted to hug that little girl right then. Good hair. Yes indeed. I don't have good hair. Why do some people have hair that always behaves itself and other people are doomed to look like Sideshow Bob for all eternity?

I have fried my hair more times than I can even remember in failed attempts to tame my unruly mop. My hair is extremely curly and extremely fine. And I have lots of it. I put relaxers, straighteners, ironed and ironed some more. It would look fine until I went outside. Then it went POOF! I tried to wear it curly. None of the curls are the same size or go in the same direction. I'd slather on the Frizz Ease and again, it would be fine until I went outside. A month before Katrina, I paid $400 to get the Chi done on my hair. It was fabulous. My hair laughed at the humidity. I woke up, brushed my hair and walked out the door. Brushing my hair had never been an option before, unless I was trying for an afro. The Chi needs maintenance. I am a very low maintenance kind of girl but I was going to give it a shot. Then Katrina came along and blew my hair guy to another state. Soon after, my hair staged a mutiny. I found myself at the end of my rope with my hair.

In the Goth subculture almost every female has worn dreadfalls at one time or another, the brightly colored fake locks tied around your own hair, myself included. I knew a few white people with real dreadlocks in the past. One of them was so fussy about his hair it turned me off to the idea of ever doing it myself. When I moved to New Orleans, I was surprised to see how many white people are running around here with dreads. I'd had enough of my own hair and something drastic needed to happen. I was either going to give myself a buzz cut and buy a bunch of wigs or get my hair dreaded. I chose dreads. I only regret now that I let my best friend chop off 12 or 13 inches of my hair during Mardi Gras 2 years ago. It was burnt but it would have dreaded nicely and my hair would be much longer now. I like long hair but I like long hair that behaves.

I swear, SWEAR, if I had only known how much peace a hairstyle could bring to my life I would have done this years ago. Decades ago. Zen. I've never had that kind of feeling before EVAH. I'd like to be one of those Zen-like people but I'm not. I'm a high-strung overly emotional spastic monkey most of the time. And I used to be much, much worse. I'm tickled that I have one thing in my life, my hair, that gives me some peace. I've had my hair dreaded for a little over a year and a half now. I went with a more natural way to get them, no salons (high maintenance) and no waxes. My hair went through many changes and at times, they looked pretty bad. Be patient I told myself. This takes patience. No one thought it would last long because if there is one thing I definitely am not, it's patient. Peace and lessons in patience. Who knew?

In the process of dread locking my hair I discovered something. There is a serious lack of hair accessories for dreads for people who aren't Rasta wannabes. Sure, I can find tons of stuff with the Jamaican flag colors, pot leaves, rainbows, and other things that make me want to puke. Yeah, I have dreads but I'm not Rasta, not a fan of Reggae, don't smoke pot or do drugs, nor am I a neo-hippie. If I have to classify myself, it's Goth-Punk-Straightedge. I don't drink, do drugs, or 'ho around. So what's out there for me and people like me? Not a lot.

I keep my hair covered at work because I don't want to get dust and crap in my hair. So I make my own bandannas and headbands. Recently I was talking to several people who have (awesome) dreads and the need to cover your hair at work. One guy works in construction so keeping crap out of his hair is a priority and since his hair is so long, he's stuck using the Rasta hats. Two others work in the kitchen at a restaurant so keeping grease and food odors out of their hair is the main concern. Again, the options are limited. Since I get lots of comments on my own head gear, it started the wheels spinning. I quizzed some of my locked acquaintances about what they'd like to have. I started sketching out some ideas. Then working on some prototypes. So far, so good. I think I actually have too many ideas to start with and need to narrow it down some. Then I just need to convince some of the dreadheads to model for me.

I make a ton of really cool stuff but mostly for myself. I've been looking for something I could make and sell. I think I've found what I was looking for.

Shrine Box and Trying to Stay Warm

The cold snap around these parts has been rough. Our house is so old and huge, trying to keep all of it warm is next to impossible. Forget going out to the workshop! Even my craft room (where my computer lives) was even to cold to be in for any length of time.

My Beloved had to go out of town so he helped me bring some of my project stuff in the house. If he’s not home, I’m not cooking! So I set up a workshop in the kitchen. Everyone puts a scroll saw on the kitchen counter, right? I discovered that my Beloved used a piece of wood I’d been saving for a project. Crap. Move on to something else. I had some wood for another project but hadn’t touched it because I thought I needed to use the table saw. And I couldn’t get to the table saw. I decided to use the scroll saw and just be very, very careful.

I started building the shrine box that had been floating around in my head for quite some time. I cut out a heart with wings from a very thin piece of pressed wood, and a star, a sun, and a scalloped topper from MDF.

I painted the heart, the sun, and the star and glued them to the box. I stamped words and phrases to the front of the box.

I traced the shape of the winged heart of the front piece it’s not attached to and painted that area black. I stamped in words using white paint in that area. I masked it of before stamping and it reads, “While life is short, love is long.”

I painted the inside a mottled red and stamped lettering on the inside of the doors. My daughter’s boyfriend came up with an idea I really liked, to paint the inside like the chest cavity where the heart would be. While it would suit me just fine, I’m not sure I’m keeping this piece so I need to remember that not everyone thinks creepy is cool.

The inside doors read, “Those we loved live on in our hearts. Our memories keep them alive.This is the true meaning of immortality – Love.”

I like it!

New Year - New Journal

I've spent the last few weeks thinking about the new year. The time everyone starts thinking about New Year's resolutions. I had the idea that I'd start November 1st with the new journal I made. I think of the year changing on October 31st but that's another story. The idea got tossed on the back burner so I guess I'll wait for January 1st instead. The focus I want to put on the journals is not so much resolutions but goals. Not the "I will go to the gym 3 times a week and lose a gazillon pounds" stuff that you know you aren't going to do when you wrote it down.

Sometimes when I start mulling things over, I'll see the topic popping up all over the place. I generally take this as good sign. While I was thinking about the things I missed in my life and the things I value, several of the podcasts I listen to regularly talked about defining your values. I went to Violette's blog after listening to Ricë's interview with her and there it was again. Sometimes the Universe gives subtle hints, other times it whomps you up side the head.

I have in the recent past allowed myself to be swayed from what I want to do by other people. This baffles the crap out of me. Why the hell do I do that? Why now? For the whole of my life until now, I haven't given a flying fig what other people think about pretty much anything. And I'd always had an iron will. Iron clad in titanium. Getting so far off track isn't sitting well with me. I need to change this. Pronto. I need to redefine the things that are important to me, the things I value and focus on putting those things in the forefront of my activities.

So, what are some of the things I value, things that are important to me? Having an "online" life is one of them. I used to enjoy meeting and talking to other creative people all the time. I got away from it for all the wrong reasons. I met a girl here who told me she loved reading all the stuff I posted in some of the forums were were both on. It made me feel good. I tend to look at my ideas as being out in left field most of the time and it was nice to hear positive feedback from someone. And even better to learn that I had inspired them.

Making things is important to me and that didn't stop. It slowed down to a crawl for a while though. Making things to sell - well, that part did stop. It is important to me and I need to quit talking myself out of it. My head says stuff like "Your ideas aren't generic enough for mass appeal." Yeah, so what? Or "The type people who love your stuff don't have any money." Again, so what? As a used car salesman I know always said, "There's an ass for every seat."

Another thing I need to address is my health. My weight has yo-yo'd and it dramatically affects my ability to control my blood sugar. I was a vegetarian for most of my life and I was healthy. I am questioning why I decided to eat meat again. I say it was because I'm lazy. It's very hard to be a vegetarian around these parts if you don't cook. Everything has meat in it. Yeah those green beans look innocent and untainted but trust me, they ain't vegetarian. Don't believe me? Ask the cook. I have to control my blood sugar levels, it really is a matter of life and death. The weight is secondary. It would be nice to have all the clothes in my closet fit consistently. Going up and down all the time is annoying.

Making more time for friends is also important. One of the factors in moving back into the city was to be closer to friends. I have done a terrible job at making it a reality so far. Yes, I've had friends over but not like I'd like to do. And certainly haven't done it regularly. Part of the problem is some sort of distorted sense of perfection. I think that when the house is done, just so, then it'll all be great. That's ridiculous. I don't know anyone who's house is just as they'd like it. This house is monstrous huge and many projects are in various stages of completion. It'll be done years from now. No sense in hiding away until it's perfect. I think I need to hire someone to help me clean before I can entertain. First of all, my friends aren't the fussy type. If they were, they wouldn't be my friends. Secondly, even on my bad days, our house isn't that dirty.

There's plenty of other things but that's enough for now. I have aprons to make! And I just had an idea for a new one. And a purse.

New Traditions

We have no Christmas traditions. There's a long list of why this is; differing religious and spiritual standpoints, not living near family and not having much family to begin with, and just simply not being "traditional" people. Christmas evening I was sitting at my sewing machine while my Beloved played on the computer. Earlier in the evening, my daughter had said something about gnomes or elves or something. I don't remember exactly what she said but it made me remember something else.

Last Christmas my Beloved had just returned from a long and drudging job he'd been on. The cupboards were bare. The grocery store isn't my favorite place and if he's not home, I don't cook. Since it was Christmas, everything was closed. The only thing open was the restaurant at the truck stop. So we went in. They had one cook and one waitress and a motley group of patrons. We waited what seemed an eternity for our food. The waitress apologized several times but seriously, what else did we have to do? At the counter was a man dressed like a cross-cultural gnome. He had a pointy gnome hat, Osh Kosh overalls, an ornately carved staff, and a bone pipe choker. Some of the other patrons looked like extras for Deliverance. The part that amused me the most was that they kept looking at us like we were the weirdoes. We are, but that's beside the point. The food finally arrived and wow - it was absolutely delicious. I rarely eat everything on my plate but I didn't leave a scrap that time. I just couldn't stop myself.

So this Christmas evening I brought up the lack of Christmas traditions and that we should make our own. I asked if he remembered the gnome. He laughed and said he'd forgotten all about it. As I talked about it, he remembered how good the food was and the silly fun we had. I asked if he wanted to go. Now. That would be our new Christmas tradition. We'll go to the truck stop, eat like pigs, enjoy the cast of characters, and with any luck the Gnome will show up. So off we went.

The place looked exactly the same, cheesy Mardi Gras posters still lined the walls but they had more staff and customer this time around. And I really was the weirdest looking person in the place this time too. A group of seniors sitting at the table nearby were discussing which area casinos had the best buffets and whether or not they needed to protect the water pipes at home. The waitress came over to get our orders and I ordered the same thing I got last time. Once again, it was awesomely delicious and I cleaned my plate. They had gumbo on the soup and salad bar. It was pretty good but couldn't hold a candle to my friend Marsha's gumbo. She is truly the reigning Queen of the Gumbo. Customers came and went but there was no sight of the Gnome. I giggled all through dinner.

We told the waitress why we were there. She thought the story was a hoot but instantly recognized the Gnome in the story. She said he always dresses like that and was a regular. I'd decided that if he had shown up, I would try to strike up a conversation with him. I wanted to know why he dresses like a Gnome. What do those pieces mean to him? I don't know how he would take being quizzed by someone dressed like a Pirate but there was a chance he'd think it was funny too. Maybe next time. As we were leaving the waitress called out, "See you next year!" Yes, yes you will!

Yule Greetings

Happy Solstice and Merry Yule!

I tried to find a link somewhere out there in internet land of this years Solstice at Stonehenge but no one has posted anything yet. Still celebrating I guess. Maybe tomorrow some new ones will turn up.

Meantime, here's a video of The Dolmen. The sculpture at 1:32 is amazing. I would love to have something like that in my yard. Wow, just WOW!

Copycat, Copycat, Woe, Woe, Woe

A topic has been coming up a lot around here lately and that is copying. It's not so cut and dry as that really, more the whole Inspiration/Imitation versus copying/plagiarism ball of worms. A few instances of copying and outright theft have made me very reluctant to put too much of my stuff "out there" for all to see.

I used to post pictures of nearly everything I did and even instructions for some of the stuff. Then one day, one of my most popular designs comes walking in my store printed on a light blue t-shirt. After I picked my jaw up off the floor, I asked the lady where she got it. The CVS on Canal. Ripped off at home this time. Did they think I wouldn't see it sooner or later? And what a big ball of worms it is trying to sue them. The part that irks me the most is that is was on a pastel color. I designed it to be printed on black. It looks like crap otherwise. Steal my work and butcher it too. Jeez Louise!

I have on occasion copied someone else's work as a learning exercise. Learning the techniques they used to achieve the finished product. I think this is fairly normal. There was debate about this way back in school as to some of the art world's masters. I won't get into all that but of course they were influenced by and copied others. The point is that learning is one thing. It can be seen as a step on the path of developing skills and your own personal style. Copying others because you're lazy or unoriginal is something else. Copying someone else's work and claiming it as your own and/or profiting from it is a criminal act.

A sense of personal style is important. Certain things I like have suddenly come into vogue. I'm not sure I like that entirely. On one hand, they're easier to find now. On the other hand, it cheapens it. I cringe when I see fad chasing girls wearing skulls and studded accessories with Paris Hilton butt-ugly sunglasses with Hello Kitty boots. Ugh. This is one of the reasons why I like to make my own clothing and accessories. No mass marketed-everyone has it. When I do buy things, I don't mind forking over extra for one of a kind items.

My family and friends tease me about how I behave when some people ask where I got things. If they have a similar style, are creative, or we "click", I will tell them. But if they're just interested because it's something they deem trendy, I don't. Information is different. I will gladly tell you HOW I did something, where to get supplies, and names of artistic people you might be interested in. I will even SHOW you how I did something. Learn it and make it your own. In my little world, that's the way it should be.

I don't feel flattered when I am imitated. I get annoyed. Except last Halloween. My daughter dressed up as me for Halloween. I thought it was funny. I am told at least once a day that I look "just like that girl on NCIS." Sure thing. Except that Abby is a fictional character, is much younger, doesn't wear glasses, and doesn't have dreadlocks. I don't have neck tattoos and I'm not that pretty. We both have bangs, wear a lot of eyeliner, and dress in black. Then they usually ask if I am trying to look like her. I've looked like this most of my life and that show has only been on for a few years. So, NO.

I find inspiration everywhere, from other artists to a streaky evening sky. I don't suffer from a lack of ideas - ever. I suffer from too damn many ideas. And never enough time to breathe life into them all. My Muse works overtime. I certainly have no problem inspiring others, I love it actually. Inspiration for you to make something that had YOU stamped all over it, no a carbon copy of something I did. Know what I mean, Vern?

Carts and No Horses

We have a strange variety of stuff at work and most of it is of no interest to me. No, I drag home all the stuff we throw away. After being off for a couple of days, I returned to find nifty looking clear cases for iPhones. My mind took off with all the possibilities of altering them. Reverse decoupage! My own artwork! Then I became flummoxed trying to open said case. My coworker figured it out in seconds. Yeah, just like having to get a kid to open your child-proof bottles for you.

My creative giddiness was quickly dashed on the sharp rocks of crushing reality. The case is for an iPhone. The iPhone home screen is printed on the little insert card. The iPhone doesn’t fit. Nope. Not even close. And I tried with the fervor of the wicked step-sister trying to shove her flat feet in those glass slippers. Damn.

My current case is cool so it’s all good. But an opportunity to have a super cool case would have rocked.

Turkeys and Pigs

I fairly well convinced myself that I have Swine Flu. I have the flu for certain, whether or not it's H1N1 is undetermined. Either way, I feel like poopy on a stick. And I am NOT going to the doctor to find out. That's a rant for some other time.

We didn't do anything special for Thanksgiving, but then we never do. I don't like turkey on the other 364 days of the year so I'm not cooking one on the 4th Thursday of November just because you're supposed to. I put up the Yule/Christmas tree and attempted to design a skirt for the tree. I came up with several ideas (as is usually the case) and finally settled on one only to discover I threw away the fabric I wanted to use. I use the word fabric loosely, it was some kind of laminated silvery plastic with a fuzzy backing. Like a disco tablecloth. Anyway, it's a moot point now because I tossed it out. I hate when I get all determined to clean up my hoarded supplies and then realize I really could have used whatever I got rid off. I try to simplify the rest of the house but I need to accept the the fact that my crafting room will ALWAYS be an overstuffed disaster area.

For the tree skirt, I decided I wanted a double skirt, a 5 pointed star over a circle. The points being purple and black crazy quilted and the circular skirt underneath the silver. I have some silver lame but it's too narrow and too thin. But I do have miles of it, so it could be swirled and draped. I don't know. I've decided to hold off for a bit, until I either get well or get more silver plasticy stuff. The tree is black. The ornaments are silver, stars mostly. I seem to have misplaced the purple lights I bought after Halloween specifically to use for the tree. So the poor tree tree is sitting in the parlor in limbo for the moment.

I made a book out of brown paper grocery bags. It looks kinda crappy but I like it. For some reason I simply cannot explain, I only had one sheet of the paper I wanted to cover the book with. I never buy just one sheet of anything. Did I use it somewhere and I just don't remember? So only the front of the book got covered in the lovely fall-ish leaf paper. I can always lie and say I meant to do it that way!

I painted a green man in the book. After I finished him, I forgot what I was going to write on the other page. When it ever comes back to me, I'll finish the page.

I called my darling friend Curtis yesterday for advice about doing my Beloved's hair. Curtis is a former hairstylist and cosmetology teacher. Me, forget it! I can cut paper, I can cut fabric, I can cut wood. I cannot cut hair. I've tried to think of it architecturally, like a pattern. How hard could this be, right? Nope. All of my attempts left my victims looking like they'd been attacked by brain eating mutant zombie weed whackers. My poor Beloved was a fork in the road with color too. He could only see the grey around his face, I got to see the 4 or 5 others he had swirling around the back. As I explained my intention to Curtis, he told me not to touch a thing, he'd be right over. This was a great relief to my Beloved, I'm sure!

Curtis and I walked to the beauty supply store since it was so close, a mere 5 blocks away. I forgot that walking when sick isn't such a nifty idea, I wished we'd drove instead. I thought to call my Beloved and have him come get us but it dawned on me that he was blocked in and wouldn't be able to. I had a hot flash in the store on top of everything else. Ugh! When we got back, I plopped myself by the open dining room window and managed to cool off. Curtis bleached my Beloved's hair and then but a toner on it. Then he gave him a short cut. I love it! It is WHITE! Not blonde, not grey - WHITE. Johnny and Edgar Winter WHITE. My Beloved is very tan so he doesn't look like he has a pigmentation disorder with the colorless hair. I'd love for my hair to be white but I'd probably be mistaken for an albino if I did it. I get teased enough as it is.

Pinturas

There's nursing home right behind where I work. Some of the residents are annoying but a few are adorable, happy despite their situations. I keep telling myself I need to stop getting attached to them, they're over there for a reason. Pieces of my heart die with them.

One of the newer residents is Vasco. He's from Spain and fancies himself as Picasso. He's wandered around the Quarter for years selling his painting for whatever he could get for them. He was pleased as could be to discover that I speak Spanish and has appointed me his new best friend.

Vasco asked me which I liked the most, buildings or flowers. Buildings. He brought me a painting he did of The Dumaine House. I can't say as I remember offhand what the house looks like so I'll have take his word for it.

The nutty thing was how almost started attacking the painting. Yes, it's not technical and looks kinda childish. BUT - I like outsider art. I like wild colors. I like suggested movement. And it was a gift. So there!












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Patio Table Redux

When we moved in this house, the backyard was jumbled and junky but it had potential. We got the junk out of the way (except for the bathtub but that's another story). A previous tenet had dug up the bricks to the side of the patio in an attempt to steal cable. Like no one would notice the unsightly hump he made when he put the bricks back. Replacing the bricks wasn't an option as they are old and almost impossible to find, not to mention costly. My Beloved dug them up, chipped off the old mortar and reset them. It looks so much better and I have the added benefit of being able to walk across the area without fear of busting my ass.

Of the things left behind by others, there was the bar (which I have redone) and a plywood table with a hideous attempt at a Compass Rose painted on it. The base was awkward and unsightly. And too damn high. I wanted to keep the top and the glass cover. My Beloved sanded the top and sprayed it with primer. And then it sat. And sat some more. But I did get some veneer to cover the edges with in the meantime!

I was in the house knocking around and get a strange text message from my Beloved, "I need a good brushing. Remember me?" Say what? Then another, "I have great potential...all I need is a good coat." I head outside to see what in the world he's talking about. When I saw what he'd done with the table I had to laugh. He even left his phone there to make it seem like the table was messaging me. Okay, Okay! I get it. Paint the table.

Several designs had occurred to me at different points but since we'd more or less come to an agreement on what we wanted the space to be, I had to come up with something fitting. When I first laid eyes on the space I thought "English Garden." I meant wild, explosive, whimsical, riotously colorful English garden, not tightly manicured and geometric English garden. But as we discussed ideas more, we moved further and further away from it. Now it's Moroccan or as my Beloved called it, Arabian Nights. I busied myself with coming up with a design and set to work.

I ironed on the veneer to mask the cut edges of the plywood, transferred my design and got busy. I love it. Even though we knocked off the base it was originally on and added legs, it's still too high for my liking. When my Beloved gets home, he'll shorten the legs and it'll be perfect.

Oooh That Smell

We have a large Sweet Olive tree in the front yard that bathes the whole place with its wonderful scent. I knew where the scent was coming from but I sometimes forget my Beloved “ain’t from around here.” We were driving down Prytania one evening last week with the windows down. The air was heavy with the scent of the many Sweet Olives that line the street. My Beloved asked where the scent was coming from. The trees. When we got back home, I pointed out the one in our yard. He made the comment that they just don’t have  that up north. True, but they don’t have melt your face off heat and humidity either.

I thought of a place I used to live, the fences invisible under the drapery of honeysuckle, jasmine, and wisteria. Sweet Olives poked through the jungle and roses filled the flower beds. Moonflowers climbed the side of the windows to draw luna moths into view. We would sit outside in the evenings, weeding and laughing as my then 18 month old grandson chased “fey” aka fireflies around the property. The scent on the evening breeze was intoxicating. I thought if I could bottle that scent, I’d be a millionaire. My grandson will be nine this year and I can still remember the way the place smelled so vividly.

Now that the weather has cooled off, we have turned our attention the outdoor spaces of our home. The patio was a disaster area. Cast offs and ugly things left by the previous tenets littered the space. We moved, threw away, and cleaned. It’s become our favorite place to be. The previous tenets left a quarter circle bar on the patio. It was in an awkward place and hideous. I’m really bad at remembering to take photos of things before I decide to alter them so I have nothing to illustrate my point here. The trim was coming off and the front is textured like rock. Except they left it the color of the texturing product and slapped fluorescent lime green paint on it in random blobs. Like I said, it was hideous. My first thought was to drag it out to the street with a sign declaring “Please take this.” We do need some sort of storage for extra planters and barbeque stuff. So I nailed the trim back in place and painted the whole thing a dark grey. Then I mixed up some varying greys and smushed and sponged. When it was dry, I dry brushed the base grey on the high spots of the texture. I love it now. We have a place to stow stuff out of the way and I don’t want to bleach my eyeballs looking at it!

We have more planned for the area but it will have wait for now. I have sewing projects lined up and waiting for some attention.

I Brake for Fashion

There's a little shop on Magazine that always has the cutest little cargo dresses hanging outside. I always tell myself I should stop in and check them out but never did. I had to run some dinner to my daughter yesterday and spied something new hanging outside of the shop. It made me hit the brakes and pull over.



I went inside and discovered that she not only had on in my size, she had it in black. I didn't even have my purse with me but the lovely shop keeper agreed to hold it for me until I get off work today.

The shop is filled with such beautiful things, vintage dresses, and one of a kind garments. I think I have just found my new favorite place to shop!
-- Posted from my iPhone

Busy Busy Busy

I have seriously neglected posting anything anywhere of late. Since moving back into the city it’s been a constant stream of projects. Most of the interior painting is done. The patio is looking less like the set of Sanford and Son.

I went through a period of injuring myself with home improvement projects. My back was screaming at me. It seems that my back doesn’t like being up on ladders while painting. Probably because I was so tense as I am terrified of ladders. That’s not true, what terrifies me is falling off. Anyway, the hot tub and a large jug of Ibuprofen kept me from laying on the railroad tracks.

The formal entry is now two lovely shades of purple and the parlor is two shades of grey. Painting the upper part of the parlor was a nightmare and a half best left for another entry.

The dining room is a sort of non-color color. There’s a lot more to be done to the room and the non-color is just a backdrop. The best thing to happen in there was changing the butt-ugly ceiling fan to a much nicer chandelier. I still have to stencil the walls and paint a trompe l’oeil panel over the bar. I’ll get that done as soon as my Beloved scares me up some scaffolding because I am through with the ladders!

The main thing that has been taking up my time is glass. We don’t like how the front door dumps you into a massive, almost overwhelming space. We decided to make a three paneled room divider with a steel frame that would mimic the aquarium stand. But what to fill the panels with? We decided on stained glass. After browsing the internet for ideas, we came up with our own design since nothing we found was exactly what we were looking for. It’s been many a year since I did any glass work and need to bring my skill (and confidence) level up. I made a bunch of small projects and when I was sure I could make something large and outstanding, we went shopping for glass. A LOT of glass.

I know I complain about service in New Orleans way too much. Bad service is the norm here and you can always tell who isn’t from here – they’re the ones balking. We looked online for glass at first. The glass seemed cheap at first but then when you added shipping and all the other miscellaneous fees, it wasn’t such a bargain. Plus I have no faith in the mail service either. We’d most likely end up with big boxes of broken glass. I found a store in Metairie and drove over to look around. Not only did they have everything we were looking for, the service is absolutely outstanding! Truly fabulous people and a such a pleasure to do business with. So if you are in the New Orleans area and looking for stained glass, I highly recommend The Stained Glass Studio. Tell ‘em Miss Purple and Red sent you.

Swoon . . .

If you couldn’t already guess, I’m a huge Alice in Wonderland fan. And Johnny Depp fan. And Tim Burton, what can I say. If he’s involved, I’m there. I simply cannot wait for this movie to be released. But if it weren’t enough that all my Wonderland dreams are being born into reality, I just read that Johnny is going to play Barnabas Collins. Holy Cow! This is too much excitement for an old woman!

If I’m dreaming, please don’t wake me

We spent the night in the new house last night. I woke up at the usual time but had oodles of time for myself. I made coffee and got to have a cup. Before it was grab coffee, hope to get a few sips before rushing out the door chanting "I'm late." I took more than 2 seconds to pick out clothes for the day. I flattened my bangs even though with this humidity, it's an exercise in futility. I made notes for myself in my journal. Then I left for work. It took me a whole two and a half minutes to get to work. Holy cow. I can certainly deal with that!

While at work today, I received a very nice compliment. A couple of regulars are moving to North Carolina this week. One of them told me the other said the only thing he would miss about New Orleans was "the really nice lady who always wears black." I said I was glad to know someone would miss me and I would miss seeing them around too.

The exchange tickled me but made me kind of sad at the same time. I have a bunch of Thank You cards given to me by customers. In my eyes, I didn't do anything special. Just being nice. Just being a decent person. In their eyes, it was such a rarity, special enough to take the time to write a message in a card and send it to me. Whatever happened to being nice? Most people here are so rude. The bad part is they aren't aware that their behavior wouldn't be acceptable in the rest of the civilized world. Hold the door for others, help the person in the wheelchair by getting things from they can't reach, greet people with sincerity, make eye contact when they are speaking, and for chrissake - SMILE!! Your face won't break, I promise.

In our new home, the room that is to be my new crafting space was  wallpapered in something you just had to be on acid to have said, "Oh yes! That's what I want on my walls!" The horrific shade of teal painted under the chair rail was pretty ugly too. The room is now white above the chair rail and purple below it. When I get the black and white striped stuff in there it will be my own twisted slice of heaven. I love the tub in the master bath and looking up at the chandelier while soaking is silly fun!

But I have to get going and stop rambling. Load the truck and make another trip to our new house.

Home Sweet Home

It’s been awhile since I posted anything, lots of stuff going on. I have wanted to move back into the city for quite some time for many reasons. The absurd amount I was spending on gas every week, the lost 2 hours a day in commute time, and lack of a social life topped the list. Beloved was less than thrilled at the prospect of moving back into the city. Where we live is quiet and the crime rate is zero. We discussed moving back many times and he said it would have to be perfect. I thought perfect was something we’d never find. Form a mental picture of me sitting at the table, bib around my neck, knife and fork in hand with a large plate of crow.

We found perfect. We found beyond perfect. We both said that if we’d made a list of everything we wanted in our respective ideas of “perfect,” this place has all of them and many more. It’s a cavernous old Victorian with a detached garage. Finding anything here with a garage is quite a feat. Not only is the garage big enough for Beloved’s workshop, it has a home gym in the back end of it. It has a lovely and very private back yard and covered patio. It has a hot tub! The wrought iron fenced front yard is adorable. The kitchen has tons of cabinets, counter space, and a dishwasher. I won’t know how to act! And closets! Closets everywhere! BIG closets! And stained glass! And ornate fireplaces!

Needless to say, we signed the lease are in the process of moving. We are so excited. Since the new place is less than a mile from my work, my commute time and gas bill are negligible now. My friends can actually visit me now. Beloved has a place to grill even if it’s raining. We have sunny garden space. This is going to be so good!

If I were any Greener I’d be a damn Leprechaun

I have some friends, well more like acquaintances since we don’t actually “hang out” (and I’d probably end up smacking a few of them if we did), who have gone all out about Earth Day and being green. Please don’t lecture me. I made it all these long years just fine without a bunch of idealist minded twenty-somethings explaining life to me.

I was raised by my grandparents, two people who were seriously scarred by the Great Depression. They recycled EVERYTHING. Nothing was ever thrown away until every last drop of its usefulness was exhausted. We lived in a modest house built by my grandparents. We grew our own fruit and vegetables. We had bees for honey. Our food scraps went to the compost heap. We tore down old houses and barns to recycle the wood. Some of my best loved treasures came from the dump. We’d haul off our garbage and end up dragging someone else’s home. Being wasteful was a serious sin.

When I was 12 I got my first glimpse into our family’s finances. My grandparents were pretty much rolling in it. Filthy Stinking Rich. Their lifestyle was choice not necessity. Our life wasn’t all frugality. We never wanted for a thing. Christmas morning at our house was a jaw dropping experience. I got a full sized rail dune buggy for my 11th birthday. And I was certainly the only 16 year old riding around town on a new Harley Davidson.

My grandparent’s frugal ways became permanently etched into my being. I look at everything and ask myself how I could use it before passing it over or tossing it out. Even at work, my boss will ask me if I want an item before he takes it to the dumpster. My dress form (homemade at that) rolls around thanks to a recycled store display. A few of my mates, Beloved included, were initially horrified by my penchant for dumpster diving. Once they learn that I can make something really cool with whatever I drag home they come around. And it was FREE! That’s the best part! I save and repurpose everything.

Since my boss creeped into this rambling tale, I have to mention something amusing. Everyone is always asking me why my boss is so unfriendly and hardly ever talks. He’s just standoffish if he doesn’t know you very well. But if he likes you, he likes you. He tripped me out a bit this last week with my friend Teresa. He bullshits with her, laughs with us. When some of my other friends come in, he asks me questions about what’s going on with them after they leave. He doesn’t speak to them directly. For some reason, Teresa is different. He talks to her. She loves our ice cream and was let down when the machine locked up on me one afternoon. As soon as he got the machine fixed, he asked me to call her and let her know it was back on. Crazy.

Sam, my former co-worker got back from Algeria last Friday and came to hang out with us yesterday. He brought me back a darling hanging incense burner. Last time he went, he brought me back an awesome Moroccan lamp. My boss looked at the incense burner and said I needed the charcoal tablets to burn the incense on. I said I had plenty. He got all happy and asked where I got them. The voodoo shop. He laughed and said “The voodoo shop! You would say that.” Yup. Got the incense there too.

Immaculate Conception and Other Lunacy

I watched one of the most astounding programs on TV last night. Stories of women who gave birth without knowing they were pregnant in the first place. Some of the women had given birth before, some not. Most of the women were overweight but a couple were skinny. One of the doctors on the show kept reiterating that every pregnancy is different, even with the same woman. Yeah, I get that. Been there, done that. But still . . . it’s hard to believe that you wouldn’t know.

I understand that some babies move a lot, others not so much. We joked that my eldest would make a great soccer player since all she did was kick – visibly! My third child wouldn’t move for weeks sometimes. She was even two weeks overdue. It’s no great surprise to us that she turned out to be very lazy. I didn’t get very big with the first child until the 8th month. I wore regular clothes until I was 7 months pregnant. But still, the round little potbelly was a dead giveaway. With the second, I went from a size 4 to a size 12 by the time I was 5 months pregnant. I was huge! I waddled!

I’d heard comments most of my life about the “glowing” pregnant woman. I was never that woman. I was the miserable woman with the green face who looked like she was going to puke at any moment. I should have named my youngest daughter Mylanta because that’s all I could keep down for 5 months.

My first pregnancy was the easiest, probably due to a complete lack of stress. Labor lasted 24 hours but never became more painful than a bad case of gas. I even fell asleep. The doctor woke me up to tell me it was time to push. The second one was the exact opposite. I screamed, kicked, and bit. The pain was so intense I really started to believe I was going to die.

All of the thoughts on pregnancy and birth takes me back to Friday. That’s the day all the anti-abortion idiots descend on St. Charles Avenue. Most of the time they steer clear of us since their run in with my boss. They must have forgotten because they started coming in last Friday. I was less charitable than my boss was to them. I have one of their pamphlets around here. I need to scan it and post it. The only thing they left off was alien abduction. It’s such far-fetched conspiracy crap you just scratch your head and say “What?”

One of the protesting men tried to label me as feminist and insinuated that I was a lesbian. Feminist, maybe. Lesbian, not even a little. No, my bitch is that YOU – a MAN – have no place in the discussion. You cannot get pregnant. It’s not your CHOICE! He said something I didn’t catch all of but apparently he thought I didn’t have any kids. Whatever. I have a slew of kids. None of them were planned and I didn’t abort any of them – because it was my CHOICE! That’s the issue you retard – CHOICE!

A female police officer assigned to guard the protesters gave me a little tidbit about some of the protesters. Many of the males have recently been released from prison, two of them for RAPE! They were recruited through a “Christian” outreach program while in prison. WTF? Don’t even get me started about the Bible beating freaks in the South. Somewhere around here I have a cartoon I clipped out of an Arabic newspaper of Bin-Laden sitting in a cave reading the Holy Quran upside down. Southern fringe Christians are no different.