Takaezu and food

Today I read the obituary of the ceramic artist Takaezu, and if this name is new to you, please look her up. She was wonderful. Made all sizes of clay vessels and shapes, up to enormous. The picture of her in the New York Times shows her surrounded by some of her giant pieces, wonderful closed shapes bigger than she. I've seen and handled some of the big pieces at the local Grounds for Sculpture, where they're on permanent display, and the atmosphere around them has to be experienced in order to understand it.

In her life, she had a wonderful seamless approach to everything she did, commenting that there was no division between making pots, cooking and growing vegetables. All are a good part of an interesting life. All can be art, too.

Interesting that I should have read this after sitting down for a few minutes after a morning of cooking beef stock soup with many vegetables, baking biscuits, making fresh green salad from a lot of winter vegetables, and creating a fruit salad



for HP, oranges and pears, now in season.

This is one of the ways I approach my own life, to try to live each moment and enjoy it and not let worry about future events cast a shadow on today's pleasure. So cooking from scratch is one of the pleasures, and here it's a challenge, too.

HP has little sense of taste, owing to rx interactions many years ago, and has great difficulty manipulating table utensils. So his food has to be organized in such a way that it can be picked up easily with fingers, or a spoon or fork, look interesting, have varying textures and be pretty spicy, too. Art flourishes within limitations, so those are mine. And he loves color, so I look for color interest in his food, too.




Things like adding chunks of tomato in season to green salad, or red cabbage in winter, and shredding a variety of greens, kale, chicory, chard, scallions, dandelions, watercress, to make interesting salads with varying textures and colors.

The current soup is the first time in many years I've used beef bones to make a stock, since we are not into beef for varying reasons.




But the stock is very good, and the drippings from the bones as they roasted, since we wouldn't eat beef drippings on a bet, I chilled and filled with bird seed and put in a suet holder out on the tree outside for the birds.

I know they liked it, since the empty container, totally cleaned, showed up on the grass under the tree after a few days.I expect the squirrels helped, too, since I saw one dragging it about like a shoulder bag as he worked on the last little bit.

And, since the last report on the Painting of the Closet, the doors of both closets in the bedroom have been removed, which makes the room look surprisingly bigger, and one door is now in the living room on the coat closet, replacing the old one which separated the way hollow core doors do, and I've set to work to make hangings for the openings of the closets.



The material is those plastic things that hold together six packs of cans, ironed together, great fun, and threaded onto a tension rod.

Campus visit for a Dolliver

Dolliver Call Me Michelle, signed herself up for today's expedition to Princeton University campus. After all, she pointed out, Michelle O. went here and did just fine, so why not a D? I went to visit the Art Museum on the campus,really, but she was more interested in the ambiance of what she is planning to be her future college campus.

On the way there we passed the supermarket and caught the local high school youth orchestra's fund raiser, with a young cellist giving a spirited rendering of a Bach partita for unaccompanied cello




What with posing under ancient trees,



with Henry Moore in the far distance -- that green metal sculpture, wonderful piece of work.



I insisted on getting that in, since Moore is my homey. Another native of north Yorkshire (along with David Hockney) he's always been a favorite around my life.

There was the requisite visit to the Princeton tigers



which impelled a little boy, seeing her there, to jump up, too




And there was the forsythia newly in bloom



outside the art museum, inside which D. rode in her traveling bag and I respectfully refrained from photography while I basked in wonderful small exhibits of all kinds. This is a hugely well endowed place, with gifts right, left and center from rich alumni, and a changing scene of exhibits. Next up will be Schwitters, and I have to see that, just have to.

Meanwhile I was happily studying Japanese woodblock prints (NJ is rich in these, since there have been Japanese students at Rutgers and other places for ages, with the wealth and the gratitude to make sure a wonderful collection is in place). The best one is at the Voorhees Museum in New Brunswick.

Anyway,in Princeton they have some great Hiroshige prints of Tokyo and environs. Poignant to see these at this moment, but I thought it appropriate to pay my respects by honoring an art tradition.

There were also some great Chinese prints from the early medieval period which look startlingly modern, very abstracted visions of natural objects.

This is the best refreshment in the world, to be surrounded by lovely art which makes you look and think and feel. It's a small museum with an amazing collection from medieval to present day, from every continent.

The campus in which you find the art museum, is enormous, ivy covered buildings all over the place, with gargoyles carved on many of them -- books have been written about the gargoyles -- and curving paths and old trees and a worldclass collection of art around every corner. And today groups of high school kids being hauled around in case they want to apply, I guess. This gave D. the idea that if they could why not a D? okay, so it would be a first, but that's fine.



So she sat at this doorway, figuring it looked like the place you should wait at to arrange to be admitted. Wearing her best spring outfit. I told her she'd better crack the books, not to mention studying her music, if she's going to compete with the high school cellist we saw earlier, to get in here.



After you have an intense exposure to art and buildings, the buildings start to look like art. This one, with the Woodrow Wilson building on the right and the chimneys rising, reminded me a lot of Sheeler's industrial landscapes from the early twentieth century. It's the chimneys that do it.

Erin go Bragh from the O'Dollivers

The Dollivers got dolled up in the Green today, and to avoid squabbles, a single scarf was draped over all of them, but Kitchen Witch, in her bright green dress, requested that she be clear of the scarf, to show off her outfit better. The hats, don't ask me, the Ds insisted that they were part of the getup and who am I to argue, the mere photographer around here.

Anyway, Happy St. Patrick's Day to them as celebrates it, which is probably everyone, regardless of heritage. Enjoy the soda bread and corned beef and cabbage if that's your pleasure. Don't forget the step dancing while you're at it. And the banging of the big drums and the playing of the whistles.

The Hounds of Spring singing and looking cute

Spotted on today's walk, two Hounds of Spring, one large and loud, one small and cute.




White Fluffy singing hey nonny nonny, sweet lovers love the spring..all carried away with the sudden good weather.





Now the singing's over, Small Brown Dog gets to pose for the camera, showing his best cute.

Caregiving and painting closets

A few days ago I posted proudly that I'd got the lid off the can and the stuff out of the clothes closet, and I was ready to paint. First paint job I've done since HP was in the hospital, two years ago now,and I was wondering several things.

One was that my increasing creakiness might make it a bit more difficult. And my balance might not be as good up my little stepladder. And trying to fit in the work to the needs of HP, not always predictable these days, might be a puzzle.

Anyway, I finally realized the closet was a small job, the paint was ready, and why not take advantage of a low humidity day. I had two segments of about 45 minutes in the afternoon, and there was a soccer match on for HP to be entertained by. Soooo. I did it, and I have the pictures to prove it. I did about three quarters of it, and can easily finish it tomorrow.

In the process, I also found half a gallon of a nice peachy color which I need for a downstairs wall,and now I'm on a roll!

And none of my fears about my hands, pain, balance, etc., worked out in practice at all. It was just fine. And I feel just fine, too. Impossibly smug, to be exact.

I haven't written very much about HP lately, and have had some inquiries, so here's an update. We have had a few health scares, which seem to be okay now, but his confusion grows and his memory is very patchy. Difficult to have a connected conversation which stays in the realm of the real, rather than fantasy. And that is one of the hardest things to cope with Sometimes he gets all agitated when I'm attending to him morning and night in his bed, and can't understand I really can not stop until he's clean and changed.

In the daytime I can't trust that he will sit without trying to throw himself forward, risking pitching out of his chair. He's impulsive and can not remember he can't walk now. I've always seated his chair at a table, which is in front of him no matter where he is, largely so that he has his own dining space, and room for newspapers and glasses and other impedimenta. But it also acts as a safety buffer.

I always work in the kitchen where he can see me, through the pass through, and we eat lunch and supper together, with me next to his table, so he has company, which he likes.

And yet there are many times when he's lucid and content and friendly and things are good. He continues to enjoy some things about his day, loves the cooking around here, enjoys parts of the morning paper. Mornings are likely to be the best times for him, so it's good if he wakes up cheerful, not so good if he wakes up angry and agitated.

I'm thinking I may talk with HS about giving me another couple of days in October to get away. For me it's four days of heaven, for him a couple of personal or vacation days. It doesn't conflict with his own plans, since he likes the rest of his time off in the height of the summer, just when he loves the shore and I don't! but it's getting wearing, and I think I need to somehow find the money to put into a second trip. Anyway, that's on the front burner at the moment.

Particularly since both his doctor and his physio have suggested I think of more respite. They're good observers and I am listening!

Meanwhile, it's very joyful to paint my surroundings and admire it! and then realize each newly painted bit makes the thing next to it looks shabby...



but I have to say, it's very good to have got it done. I like jobs that stay done!

Asian Adventures

The local Asian store is a place of mystery and great produce, much of which is unfamiliar. It's an adventure to shop there, since the clerks speak almost no English, so they can't explain how to prepare and eat these interesting items. The adventure starts before you even get into the store.



Art in the parking lot. These truck makes the run into and out of New York City daily, as the graffiti probably indicates. I love graffiti, and you will notice that the artist respectfully avoided decorating the place where the store name is showing.

So indoors, you run across items like giant papayas




And then on to



Taro root, fortunately labeled in recognizable terms, and you can find out how to proceed with this.



And there's, not a hallstand with walking canes, but a bunch of sugar cane.



And there are the special wrapped pears. Astute observers will note that one of these wrappers turned up as a Dolliver hat some time ago.

But from there, you're on your own. But we've had the best salads in the world since I started cruising the greens aisles.

A small hitch on the way to these pix. I had taken a nice pic of the wrapped pear things, and my camera showed me "out of memory." Now a swift thinker would have realized that this meant no memory. A swift thinker would not have figured that I needed to get home and charge the battery. And find the same "out of memory" happened as soon as I reloaded. And wondered if the camera was losing its essential way in life. Now, I happen to have a backup camera, which I bought second hand via Amazon, for when my frontup camera might bite the dust. The seller generously put a 2G memory card in the new one, and the battery and all.

So I faffed and footled about changing and swapping batteries, charging, testing, and the batteries worked just fine in the new camera, and not at all in the old one. After about an hour of eliminating all possibilities, switching batteries, charging either or both, scientific approach this, to discover why the weird message kept coming up, I got desperate. And found the book of instructions. And looked up the meaning of "out of memory." Or, as HS said when I recounted this pantomime to him "got desperate, huh, Mom? as in reading the freaking instructions?"

Doh. The memory card. Full. Couple of thousand images on it. Poor little camera had been insisting I READ THE MESSAGE and I'd been failing to read for comprehension, until forced to. Entirely possible I should be in a slower camera operators' group. I inserted the lovely empty memory card from the new camera into the old one. Amazing. Worked perfectly. How ABOUT that.

Now, in the interests of keeping the universe in balance, I must note here that my incompitude is more than balanced by the feat of my congressman, Rush Holt, the only member of Congress who really is a rocket scientist. He competed last week in a Jeopardy round with Watson, the computer. Result: Congressman one, Computer nil. Done in the interests of encouraging science education in our schools.

So I more or less balanced out the giftedness of the general region. I bet Rush knows when his memory card needs to be replaced, too. I wonder if he gives classes.

Daffodils, crocus and jade

After days of intense thumping rain, today the sun and the worms were out, the beech trees were stretching out in the sunshine against the spring sky




and the daffodils in the woods, which our family planted as a 9/11 memorial, have come up faithfully again, soon to bloom.




The ones on the patio, among the pachysandra, more sheltered, are a bit more advanced.



I love pachysandra. It dresses up the most unlikely places, and plants growing through it are framed. All it needs is yanking out now and then, and I give bags of it away to neighbors who didn't realize you don't always have to buy plant material.

Then the neighbors' crocuses have started up, and I got in quick before the robins rip them apart.



I think they like the yellow bits, because they just tear into them as soon as they open. The longest I ever managed to keep crocuses was two days.

And then the universe brought me a present, in the shape of this little maybe jade maybe something cheaper, carved pendant on a hand knotted red string. Probably a leftover from Chinese New Year, which I found in the middle of the street no knowing whose it was or how it got there, so I took it into my custody.




We've been studying the carving to see what the heck it is about, but can't distinguish any shapes such as rabbit or that kind of animal. It might just be about clouds. If anyone has any input do let us know. It's a nice little piece, and will certainly find its way into something or other around here.

Booksales and Birding

The official Outdoorsdoll decided that March is here, and it must be spring. This means first stop the spring booksale at the local library. Where she picked out a handmade blank book



with many pages of lovely mulberry paper which I already have nonbook plans for, and posed in front of what she assumed was



the Book of Dolliver.

Next we repaired to the wilderness preserve, where, as she pointed out, she was already togged out in birding clothes, very muted colors, blending right in, and the pink hat? that was so that if any great big redtailed hawk grabbed her, the rescuers would be able to spot her right away. I pointed out that the honking great pin in the hat was unlikely birding wear, but she in turn pointed out that she was not some schlump who went out birding without jewelry, for doll's sake.

And she was right about spring, because there was a huge gang of redwing blackbirds all shouting joyfully in the trees.



Major cheering sign of spring here. And a large field of Canada geese,not exactly a sign of spring, and I mentioned that we could get a lot closer to see them better, but she had eyed them for size



and decided that up a tree and across a field from them was a perfectly adequate vantage point, thank you.

However, she was happy to get close to the chickadees at the feeders




and in the trees, along with the mourning doves, feathers whistling as they flew off.

Getting the Lid Off the Can

I had a boss who used to say that the hardest part of painting a room was getting the lid off the can. So true. I speak as one who painted, by hand, alone, all alone, every wall in our three story townhouse, one wall at a time. Bird by bird, you might say. Took most of the winter, because it also entailed cleaning, chucking, generally organizing the place at each small stage.

I did this because 1. I don't have the physical strength to paint more than one wall in a day 2. it's much less disruptive to the other people not to have to move all the furniture at once 3. I buy cheapo roller covers, and discard the day's one at the end of the day without remorse and 4. I like doing it this way.

Sooooo, I have been held up for a couple of years from continuing this trend, since it's several years since I was able to pay any attention to the walls, other than climbing them, and certainly no attention to whether they needed a paint job. But in the course of human events, I have been emptying, freecycling and generally organizing upstairs closets which had not been attended to since dinosaurs roamed the earth.

And found they had never been painted since the house was built, over 20 years ago. Soooo, that's next, I guess. Small closets, not the room sized ones I painted a while back, while HP was in the rehab and I wanted to get them done before he came home so as not to expose him to fumes, and they were a big job.

Anyway, since this is inside closets, no need to get fancy about the paint. I'll just use leftovers from other jobs, all of which are pale colors, and won't jump out at me when I open the door. And since one of the closets contained the paint cans, the only place to keep them frostfree, I've been contemplating, for several weeks, in fact, picking a can and getting the lid off.

And today I did it.



So this picture is by way of a brag, and a demo of what needs to be painted and spiffed up before my weaving and knitting supplies find a home in there.

Speaking of weaving and knitting and other artforms, March is Youth Art Month around here, and the town hall and library are packed with terrific art from our local schools, Grade Two to senior in High School, and some of the works are really good. It's a nice way of giving a huge range of kids the chance to show their work with minimum fancy arrangements -- no framing, just plastic sleeves, and staple the work to the walls -- but there's usually a reception and mobs of proud parents roving the buildings, great fun.

Anyway, I am in the middle of a weaving series, small components to make a bigger work, and as I was roving the exhibits yesterday, I was drawn inevitably to this lovely little piece of work, created by a third grader.



Ah, a kindred spirit!

A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Tapestry Frame

Yesterday's walk yielded wonderful skies and the pale gold of beech leaves in winter. They rustle gently even when there's no wind.

And then back home on the way to working on the pink/red/hot tapestry frame, a funny thing happened. I came over all dreamy about blues and greens and the shore and the sky and committed this little weaving, 11 by 4.5 inches:




It's made from my homespun and dyed yarn, cashmere from a harvested sweater, and linen yarn from a top I harvested and unraveled in the course of organizing my clothes closet to Freecycle a lot of items that I either don't wear, wrong style, or can't wear, they're way too big, yes an unusual complaint, but two years of unremitting crisis will do that to you.

Anyway, back at the yarn, I had a wonderful time with this weaving, using one of the cardboard looms I made a couple of years back. While I was working on this, I was also musing about the other, much bigger weaving. So I realized afterwards, I have two weaving forms going.

And I found that I can leave one piece and work on another at the same time, then go back to Thing One. The blue piece is probably going to form part of a bigger hanging. I expect once I work on the red piece,



the ideas for the other will start up! no, I'm not -- oh, look a bird! -- distractible. Noooooo.

Snow's gone. Labyrinth clear. Dollivers go.

The six word bio of yesterday's Dolliver adventure forms the title of today's post.

Finally the snow has gone, for now anyway, and as I was urgently in need of a labyrinth outing, what with long winter, tiredness, general depression and feelings of oh, poor me, intervening among happier passages.

So the Ds. insisted they come. The little Kitchen Witch explained that since she knows about magic and helping and powers we can't see, she had no need of a new costume at all, being fully equipped for any eventuality, but she insisted that this be her first outing of her life.




Big D however thought her handcrocheted lace dress and a headband would be a suitably humble yet lovely outfit, and Porcelain D borrowed shorts to go with her dress, and decided on a headband, too, which made her look unnervingly like John McEnroe in drag, but never mind.




They agreed to stay respectfully out of the center of the labyrinth, under the Tibetan prayer flags, which brush my hair as I walk the labyrinth, very pleasingly, like an unearthly touch. I found a piece of green glass which I put in the center of the labyrinth when I reached it and stood for a few minutes, just letting things be.

Things included music which a neighbor suddenly started blasting out of the garage while he worked on his car. Remembering the Shakuhachi Effect -- everything that happens is part of what happens, not an interruption of what happens -- I just went on.

It has been true on every labyrinth visit that whatever problems I present as I enter get some kind of response before I leave. This time it was about tiredness, long winter, feeling of cabin fever in all parts of life at times. And on the way out, came swimming up from the subconscious the thought, clear as anything: most of what you want is fantasy.

Now this really rocked me. Given that want has several different meanings, desire, need, lack, and more. And given that fantasy might mean more life of the imagination, or might mean unrealistic hopes and dreams for some life that isn't mine, or might mean taking pleasure in simply examining lives, mine and others. A lot of material to deal with.




Anyway, a great visit.

Wallpapering Together

They say that the decision most likely to cause massive if not terminal domestic strife is innocently stumbled on when the couple decide to wallpaper together. I speak as a survivor.

Some background: as you know, HP was a nuclear scientist till he retired, and I am an artist until they carry me out. This means very different ways of seeing the world and intuiting it. He was a chemist which is good, because typically chemists have a great sensitivity to color, and he does enjoy my work hanging on the walls.

However, scientists tend to like the plan and design and THEN execute school of thought. Artists, at least my kind, are more along the lines of ready, fire, AIM! When you have one of each in a couple you have the makings of a very exciting time.

I was reminded of this a couple of days ago, when HP's physio, the marvellous Emil, was here, and we had observed that one exercise which involves hoisting HP to his feet several times, with huge assist from Emil, also made HP's feet slip a bit, despite the athletic shoes, on the laminate floor. So I wondered if a section of nonskid shelf lining, often used in rehabs to make walker handles and chair arms nonskid, might work underfoot too.

Emil, ever open, despite his massive expertise, to learning anything new, was fine with trying it. HP the scientist said, oh, that won't work. No advance planning, no scribbled notes on paper, I guess was his reasoning. I said, well, let's just see.

It worked just fine. And E. commented, well that's the difference between the science and the art approach! in both cases, though scientists and artists are quite used to things not working quite as hoped, and persevering nonetheless.

And it took my memory right back, straight as an arrow, to the time we wallpapered the kitchen in the first house we owned. This was a house built in the 1920s with all the quirks you would expect in a Sears Roebuck kit house with extra ideas added in by the owner. The kitchen had three doors opening onto it, and the sort of walls that the passage of time has um mellowed, or bellied a bit, normal in a plastered house of that period.

So we had the wallpaper. Big cheerful sunflowers and green vines or something. Bear with me, it was the early 70s., this was All The Rage at that time. If you want to see almost the exact pattern, look at the DVD of Bob Newhart's first season of the Bob Newhart Show. I rest my case. And I will not mention the orange shag rug in the dining room. Or the forest green accent wall in the living room. Draw a veil over it is a good idea. Actually a veil would probably have been a good idea at the time, too.

Soooooo, the kitchen. I thought we should work around until we met, going in opposite directions. And my approach was to wet the paper, slap it up, gently shift it into position, cut it in at the ceiling and around the many obstacles, and it looked just fine. HP made many little diagrams with measurements and little arrows and runic inscriptions then transferred the diagrams fullsize onto the wallpaper, and THEN cut it out and applied it to the wall, and it looked fine.

Came the part where we were to meet, and he was horrified when I butted together the edges where we met, then cut around the flower motifs to make the join invisible. I wasn't exhibiting art at that point, that came later, but I had a feeling for how to fool the eye, anyway.

But HP never got over the fact that though my half of the room looked fine, which he conceded, I had cheated by failing to measure and mark ahead of time!!

Fast forward to the current artwork: freeform tapestry, no advance planning other than to gather up my handspun yarn in colors that like each other, and warping the frame with string. That's it. Now, there are tapestry weavers who have the HP approach, of planning and calculating the yardage and the psi concerns, and make a cartoon, that's a rough drawing, to install behind the warp to follow as they work.

I did try that at the outset, not wishing to assume I wouldn't like it, and I hated it. All the fun went into the drawing and all that was left was dull stuff! but to those who always work that way, make wonderful artworks, good for you.



Anyway, HP is finally reconciled to my working this way and now that he's seen a lot of results he thinks maybe it's okay after all. Particularly since I was just offered a solo exhibit in fiber works for Spring 2012, all my choice of items.



Adventure stretching ahead..

Of jewels, beans and Poseidon

There was one of those neat features in the NYT today about finding materials to plant in the kitchen: those dried beans and various seeds and lentils and other things we think of as food but which can be planted.

Ever since I read a book years ago called something like The After Dinner Gardener, which was about planting the pits from your dessert orange and that kind of thing, I've been a pushover for planting whatever I find around me, but had unaccountably overlooked lentils and beans. Now, given that they might have been irradiated to exterminate various dread ailments, they may not sprout at all, but no harm in trying.

So I started pawing through the kitchen cabinets and found a bag of bean soup beans, many kinds, in the freezer. I hope freezing hasn't done them in, but I figured I may as well plant a few, so I put them in a bowl to soak for a day. And realized that the beef bones which, most unlike me, never do beef, in the freezer, are waiting to be processed into stock and united with this bean soup mix for a great family soup. So the bones are now roasting, the beans are now soaking for food purposes and a selection is soaking for planting.



They look exactly like little jewels, too good to eat. I'll keep you updated on their progress if they have any progress. I think I'll put them in the glass gardens, why not.

Other updates: years ago I made a lot of art together with another artist, Stefi Mandelbaum, under the monicker Unified Field. We did very well, as Unified, juried into some very respectable places, and even made sales, gads, as well as continuing our solo art adventures. It was great fun to keep our real identities concealed, and collect people's surmises. At one point we were thought to be a couple of young male bikers!!

Anyway, Stefi has now committed a blog, which you can find (I don't do hotlinks, since to me they are like call waiting, I'd rather not interrupt your reading in here) by googling on her name, going to her blog, then finding the page entitled Unified Field, where all will be revealed, how we arrived at the name, how we worked, and some of the works we created together.



Here's Poseidon, a mixed media piece, three image transfers from polaroids we took of our own earlier works, on a torn paper background. Please forgive the distortion -- it was the only way I could get a picture of a black piece under glass without having my own reflection front and center or a big glare from the flash.

But do mosey over to Stefi's blog and take a look at her art, too, while you're checking up on Unified Field. Good stuff there.

Three Snowdrops! must be Spring..

Finally the snow receded to where I could stumble around on the patio and see if any snowdrops had braved it all and there were three sticking up gallantly from the snow and ice, blooming away. More to come, but the total snowdrop garden is about eight flowers, so three is a representative number.

I love snowdrops, because they come through no matter what. Some years they bloom and fade all under the snow, but they seem not to care about that. And though Lucia in the Benson books despises them because they hang their heads (!) I love how you have to get up close and personal to see into their faces.

HP was thrilled with this sign of Spring that I set up in a little glass of water near him.

Meanwhile his flower requirements were being met by an orchid which blooms faithfully every year in the house.




According to the New York Times, this blog, or rather this form, is dying, speaking of coming through no matter what. They claim that Facebook and Twitter have taken over entirely. Hm. I don't THINK so! they eventually got to the point of realizing that blogs are for actual sharing of thoughts and ideas and questions and solutions, not for telling people we've just parked the car and now we're getting out and now we're crossing the parking lot, truly riveting information. I wonder if everyone's talking and nobody's listening to that sort of exciting stuff. But as they say, if you like that kind of thing, it's exactly the kind of thing you'd like..

Meanwhile, back at the blogstand, this one and its sister blog, Art, the Beautiful Metaphor, aren't going away any time soon. Oh, and our Field and Fen journals, talking about going on no matter what, are as follows: Nautilus is now in Alaska, next stop will be New Zealand, and Treasure Everywhere is in Vancouver, next stop the Bay Area. These journals have crisscrossed geography and lives, some in struggling mode, some frantically busy but with good stuff, all willing to take a shot at the journal. The journals got separated in the course of traveling, but that's fine, they'll get there! and thank you to everyone who has taken part already and to those patiently waiting their turn!

Snow White and other awful ideas

No, no, poison!



Just heard the local classical music station with a program I'd never heard before -- music written for the movies. Okay, since I rarely see movies, I figured this should be new to me, and I started to listen as I drove down a busy road en route to Target about which more anon.

And almost went off the road with PTSD when they started in on songs from the accursed Snow White. And after the Target trip, to the library to decompress, and I found an obliging child had put up a collection of stuffed toys, which agreed to be models for the narrative. Snow White has brown, not blue, eye color, about which more later..but this was a doll just acting the part of Snow White, after all.




So, fast backward, hearing the SW song in the car, I quickly switched to another station, but not before a rapid sequence of awful experiences with movies had flashed before my inner child's eyes.

The wicked Queen with the red apple, cackling and rowing off armed with the poisoned red apple to kill Snow White, oh, gah. I know several people of my age who saw this movie at age seven, and never in their lives after could put a red apple anywhere near their mouths. I wouldn't be surprised if my aversion to small boats and rowing dated from then, too!

And my monkey mind rapidly switched to Lassie, and the nightmares and crying after seeing those movies.



I think I was spared them after one sequence of screaming and nightmares about "poor Lassie and her PAWS were BLEEDING..." I wouldn't even read so-called classic novels about animals in case they suffered. Like the miserable Black Beauty. Heck, even nursery rhymes weren't safe places -- remember I Had a Little Pony????

I've often wondered what in tarnation adults are thinking, well, maybe they're not thinking, when they give little children this wonderful treat which will scar them for life! Bambi's mother....oh and that poor Dumbo...




no, no, that way madness lies.

I do remember taking HS to see a Benjy movie and we left in a hurry when he just couldn't stand it. I hadn't realized it was going to be harrowing. So maybe the prospect of Snow White sounded nice to the adults to took me there, too.

One part of that which didn't strike me as horrifying until years later was the pencil on glass quality of dear little SW's singing voice..but I still remember the good part which was that unlike most fairy story heroines, Snow White was not a blonde!!! lovely dark wavy hair and blue eyes. Like mine.

Which brings me with a swoosh to the present day and the necessity to get alternative access to the internet, since the various neighborhood wireless signals are all too weak any more to be helpful. For ages I had choices and was so grateful to generous neighbors who didn't lock down their access, and now I have to think again. It was wonderful while it lasted, but I need my dear old netbook to be working for me.

So after some research and total failure to find what I was looking for online: a stand alone service using a broadband device that looks like a memory stick, but which gives internet access on a contract basis. Online it's all bundles with everything in your house including the water heater and maybe a snowblower, in the contract, and our household won't yield easily to that approach.

Anyway, I found what I need, at the local Target with a perfectly great salesperson who had exactly what I wanted, and I'll run this by HS who knows good questions for me to think about, and then I'll probably spring for it. It is literally what I was looking for, and I'm amazed to have found it so easily. Well, easily once I'd navigated the totally under construction store which seems to be turning into a grocery place. I needed a GPS to find the electronics department...

So there's the emotional and logistical state of affairs around here. HP had a couple of bad days this week, needed quick attention and I needed rapid access to doctor advice, which is email, and his appointments with various professionals are set up that way, too. So the internet is really more of a requirement than a fun deal for me.

However, all's well now, and we will live to fight another day or several!!

Forty Eight and Counting!

Feb 16 1963 was the day HP and I committed matrimony. Not intending to coincide with or near V day, since we'd been trying to get married since the previous October. But since Catholic weddings have no legal status in England, since the Reformation, the only legally recognized marriage is performed by the township registrar. However, since a registrar's office wedding has no religious status in the Catholic church, the only option is to get the registrar to attend the religious ceremony, which they hate to do. So after setting and breaking many dates, between the church being available and the registrar being willing, we finally managed to snag the registrar on Feb 16 at 3.20 p.m. take it or leave it. So we took it.




The wedding picture is a portrait of generosity as well as a wedding picture of two hopefuls cutting their cake together. The dress and veil were lent by a friend I worked with, the cake was a wedding present from another friend, the photography a wedding present from another friend, the surroundings, the Student Union at Manchester University, a low budget location for the reception.

They were all excited about it since it was the first wedding they'd ever done! they insisted on doing all the greenery on the tables since no flowers were available -- severe winter and flowers at that time of year in England used to come from the Scilly Isles, which were totally cut off by winter storms at the time

So the soap opera began! and we were married for 18 years, during which time we emigrated, lived in Wisconsin then here in NJ, divorced, were completely apart for several years, got together again, fell apart again after buying this townhouse, and remained friends through all this, though we were a hopeless couple. Finally, we think, we put out lives together once and for all on nine eleven, figuring that we wanted to be together for each other since it could all be over in a flash.



This is us a couple of years ago

So that's us! one very perceptive friend, well, she's a therapist, hardly surprising, but she was in my life as a private art student, commented that we'd actually done what we needed wrt one another throughout, very flexible approach and one that therapists are starting to see as a good thing for many people, rather than breaking up angrily forever, or sticking together angrily forever!

And so you see us. It cracks me up when people ask what is the secret of our still being close after all these years. The answer is: a great big break of time in the middle of it...