to see or be seen

 

well, it's official: i am utterly and completely wiped out.  i hung more pictures today than anyone in their right mind would hang in one day, and i'm still not done.  there's more yet reserved for tomorrow, which is also opening day.  so if you happen to be in that cozy northwest corner of washington state called bellingham, and happen to have the evening free, please do stop by and see me, i'll be tending my wares at the JINX artspace, the perfect sort of setting for an anti-establishment kind of girl like me.  and if you're feeling extra saucy, get some handcrafted spaghetti at the Table, there you will find the fishermen and banjo picker in my oil paintings staring straight down your blouse.  until then, adieu.

shot in the dark

yesterday, while i was writing my blog and searching the internet, my computer got a virus.  instantly, my feet went numb, my heart started pounding, all my muscles clenched, i broke into a sweat.  luckily, i recognized the culprit, a nasty trojan disguised as "xp total security" that popped up to tell me i had umpteen million infections and i would have to dump in my credit card numbers in order to fix the problem.  out of fear, cures cost money, you know, some people might make that mistake.  well aware of what i was dealing with, i logged off, jumped onto "james's side" of the computer (which is remarkably clean and well kept) and was able to search down a remedy on the internet, not before accidentally downloading another virus posing as a patch.  start to finish, the entire ordeal cost me oh, maybe two hours.  in the thick of preparing for two art shows going up tomorrow, the timing was sickeningly bad.  that was two hours of my life i would like to have back, please.

there are few things in life that make me feel so helpless as getting a virus, real or virtual.  searching for a remedy for my computer before it crashed and burned, ironically, reminded me of how the folks in japan must feel, reminded me all too well of the days when mom wasn't well... maniacal moments of i'll try anything desperation.   back then, i spent half of my time coming up with hopeful antidotes, the other half, nose in a natural healing book, digging for answers.  what i found was: some questions don't have obvious or concrete answers, questions like where does disease come from and how do we fix it?  i could imagine the burden mom's doctor must have felt, looking into the eyes of a hopeful family, knowing damn well that her treatment was experimental, a last ditch effort, and that the very best he could do wasn't any better than a shot in the dark.  i remember mom saying once, "that's why they call it medical practice."  always a sharply sarcastic sense of humor, that one.  but it was true, and she was right: science, the science of computers, machines, and people, however revolutionary it may be, is truly imperfect.

longevity

i have a strained relationship with sugar.  in a lot of ways, i believe it is at the root of all evil, especially at the root of our disease ridden western culture.  yet somehow, it tugs at my heartstrings, in the form of pies and cakes and donuts and candybars, custards and ice cream and hard candy, even down to the honey in my tea. yep, i'm a sweettooth.  but what i've learned is: it's a trick, you see, that's my body playing a trick on me.   for my health, i've cut out almost all of the refined white sugar from my diet, and refuse to buy it (or anything containing it) at the grocery store.  but who can resist a quarter machine serving of m&m's, or a pint sized butterfinger on halloween?  certainly not me.  it's a weakness.  our culture has made sugared food overly abundant, not only appealing to the palette, but to our well trained eyes and our emotions.  sitting here today, painting this donut bought especially for the subject matter of my painting, it was awfully hard to not just break the thing apart and bite into that cruchy sprinkled topping. but i didn't.  because i know better.  instead, i might save it, put it under a little glass dome, and see just how long it will last.

slow and steady

 mondays here are divine.  i spent mine in blissful haze of last night's celebrations, going about my business as usual, framing my watercolors for the upcoming show.  it was quiet in the house, james gone off to fetch groceries with his sis and nephew, so quiet you could hear a single leaf fall on the red metal roof, hear the whoosh of the wind against the windows, quieter still without any stereo blather to keep me company.  sometimes, and usually, after a busy weekend of socializing, running the store, explaining this or that...the stillness is a tonic.  i purposefully don't turn on music,  the only sounds being the periodic whoowhoowhoo and slapping of wings from our resident gaggle of mourning doves, that and the heavy slogging of my clogs on the wooden floor.  i got a lot accomplished today, slowly, methodically.   washing the glass with soap and hot water, wiping it with a dry rag, trimming each painting to fit, slipping the paper against the glass, nestling the cardboard against the back, pushing in the glazier's points, turning it around, and voila! reveling in the resolve of tidy completion...again, and again.

just a feeling

speaks for itself.

sweet nectar

earlier this week, while i was out back feeding the birds, i heard that familiar buzz of tiny wings in the trees.  i looked up only to see a trace of her, whisking away in a swift blur: an ash-brown hummingbird.  now as you may  know, i'm a little superstitious about hummingbirds and their connection to my dear ones on the other side.  i excitedly ran inside to the kitchen like a little kid, the first hummingbird! i shouted to james, quickly boiled four cups water one cup sugar, and while it cooled, scrubbed out the little nozzles on grandma mickie's feeder.  i filled it, and hung it in the bony branches of the pear apple tree, expectantly awaiting spring. 

today, while little jasper and i were out back with max the cat, we had our first hummingbird sighting of the season at that feeder.  you see her? i asked.  a stummingbird!  jasper exclaimed.  we sat there, close together on the stubby rock wall that tom built.  be very quiet and still, i said, and she will come back for more juice.   we waited, and watched while she buzzed back and forth, back and forth.  she loves to drink juice? i love to drink juice! jasper cheered. yes, there she was, sipping away, at only a four foot distance, hardly flinching at the excited antics of jasper the laughing tow-headed 3.25-year-old, that little lady hummingbird, taking breaks between drinks, nearly disappearing against the camouflage of dead leaves on brown spindly blackberry brambles, though my eyes knew exactly where she was sitting.  perfect i thought.  this moment couldn't be more perfect.

heirloom

today i held down the fort while james spent some time with his grandma mickie.  i've always had a strong kinship with mickie, partially because she's a painter, and also because she closely helped raise james, my husband.  whenever i see her, there's a fierce glow in her eyes that says more than words could ever say, but mostly, thank you for loving my dear boy.  

today, james took the van and picked her up in conway, the same beige westfalia that she and gordy once owned.  to suspicious onlookers, it may just seem like another dinged up hippie-mobile. but to us, it's an heirloom.  in that van, those two drove up the alaska yukon highway, down the coast to baja, traveled miles upon miles, sleeping in the back bed parked on sandy beaches and in snow-tipped mountains.  in that van, those two traveled darn near everywhere a road can take you, and so we figure:  it's been blessed.  today, mickie sitting comfortably in her familiar passenger seat, twisting down chuckanut with her grandson at the helm, chatting while the curves skirted the coast, i know it was an uplifting departure from the day to day life of a quiet old lady in an assisted living apartment.

gordy is gone now, gone to the rainbows as nell would say, and ever since he passed away, mickie has had a hard time picking up her paintbrushes.  which really bothers her.  without daddy, i just don't know what to paint, she said to james.  and i could relate; enveloped in grief, it took me a long time to pick the brushes back up too. but today, i showed her my watercolors, triumphant.  it looks like you just pick anything up and paint it, she said.  yep, it's amazing, i guess you can make art out of anything.  you have to start somewhere, so i just pick something up and start. take this egg for instance: you could paint the same thing a million times...

and it will be different every time!  she chimed in.