can i just say this...i did not spend most of my early years learning which fork to use first just to spend a chilly evening in my dark driveway with a man in baggy-assed shorts watching him blow into an owl call. no i most certainly did not. and yet. i stood exhausted in my driveway. in an upper middle class neighborhood. a neighborhood with rules and covenants. and where you need approval to paint your house. and you can't keep a boat in the driveway. or jack up your pick-em-up truck to change the erl on sunday after church. that kind of neighborhood. is where i stood tonight. with a man in baggy-assed shorts watching him blow into an owl call. and listening as an owl - a real owl, mind you, hooted back. and got closer. and closer. til it was in my neighbor's back yard tree. and still, the man with the baggy-assed shorts persisted. and the owl, the real owl, came closer. i just knew i KNEW we'd end up on one of the America's Stupidest People shows. like where the man smears himself with deer estrus and goes into the woods and LO! gets bitch-slapped by a deer. and all the while, his wife, screaming, videotapes the rape for all of america to later snicker at. i did not have a video camera, but do plan to buy one, because i am certain Absolutely Positive that this behavior will continue, and soon earn me $10K on some show as the grand prize winner of America's Stupidest Person. and i will say Yep. it was him. so back to our story - i know i have you on the edge of your bale of hay. so the Green Acres thing is going on. and Romeo Owl, the real owl, is about 1 tree away. now i'm am certain that the fake owl with the baggy-assed pants had no plan. no idea what he would do if approached by a real owl asking if he came there often. and to be sure, fake owl had no clue not an inkling what in the God's green world he was saying to this real owl, as he blew 3 short and 1 long hoot through some lame-ass owl call he got at - yes of course - the State Fair. known for it's ingenious products of realistic-ness and value. so hootie and his blowtoy continued hooting the real owl in for...? what? he didn't know. just because he's a guy with a cool toy and because he could. so the real owl was about as close as it could be without revealing itself. and loverboy farted. yes. he did. and apparently real owls do not break wind, cut cheese, toot, flatulate, pull fingers, rip one off, etc. and AND then laugh uproariously at their own accomplishment. so 25 minutes of Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom...down the drain. so to speak. i swear i was not raised to live this life. and now know what all those reruns of Green Acres were meant to teach me. i will commence affecting a Hungarian accent and wear pearls with everything. dahlink. so how was your night? linda

i've been up since 5am (thanks west coast) rockin this mannequin. well, slow rockin...but all good. i know the exact thing i want to accomplish today, and as each step has failed to cooperate, it has given me time in my meditation room to fully develop the idea. it has grown, but only to the proportion that it was meant to be. unusual for me and my flights of fancy. i haven't needed to use my "prescription" yet, and have a feeling i won't. i've spent 5 hours and 16 minutes on this beak thing. and each prototype comes closer to what i want. yes i'm picky about the details...most of my work is about the details. diva is snoring (loudly) under the desk, and kitty is curled up in the middle of the walkway that i need to use. now, here's my dilemma: i am starving. and want more coffee (of course). in order to get to the kitchen, i have to walk downstairs, through the livingroom, through the diningroom and into the kitchen. easy enough. lord knows i make that trip too many times a day. HOWEVER...kitty has upchucked a year's worth of wet kitty food in the livingroom. there is no mistaking it - she/he was proud as punch and, with a right-angle ruler, a plumb bob and a laser level, got this stuff into the exact geographic center of the pathway through the livingroom. i saw it from the stairs and froze. then backed slowly upstairs, so as not make the stairs creak and wake husband. i didn't want him to know that i knew that there was kitty yark on the carpet. because if he sees it first (or so he thinks) he will have to either A) clean it up, or B)ask me to. and option B would be a stinky thing to do to someone. so - yes - i am a mean and selfish person when it comes to this. i admit it. i'm not proud of it. but there it is. in way of explanation...for 3 years before Kita passed away, i cleaned enough carpet to get the Stanley Steemer citizens award. 3 times a day, no matter how watchful i was...i could be found behind my trusty carpet cleaner. and it isn't just the shampooing part...that i could do all day. it's the, ummm, prep work before that. and people, i am just not that attached to this cat to forgive and understand why it keeps doing this to me. so i hear husband headed downstairs now and i'm waiting for him to use my prescriptive word. i hope he doesn't think he can just leave it there till i come down so he can point it out to me, leaving me with the choice between option A or B. the only way around this is to A) not eat, or B) tie sheets together and rapelle down the side of the house, go through the kitchen door off the deck and eat. (the same deck where little skunk got me). decisions decisions. i have got to learn to leave some snacks in my studio. L.

in case you thought i died...oh if only. and i may have a few days ago, but am too busy to lie still properly. here's the shorthand...big girl job: 2 departments...already strugglingly understaffed with 6 people...my dept down to 3 people, another has 4. shorter version - me & 1 other person trying all week to keep up with the work from BOTH depts. yes. i have taken 175 calls to date, according to the clicker counter thingie. and that does count the 4 i hung up on because they were settling in for a long chit chat. sorry. i just.couldn't.take.anymore. i answered your question 4 FOUR times. on tuesday i left early-ish with chest pains. stress, as it turns out. go figure. was it tuesday? anyway. last night i got home at 7:45pm and went straight to bed, having almost fallen asleep at the wheel on the way home. so - that's where i've been. sorry nothing pithy or deep....just day-to-day kicking my ass right now. and i get to work on a database project most of sunday. i am earning kharmic points by showing up. i'm not certain how many miles on my kharma card, but lets hope LOTS after this week or buddha's got some 'splaining to do to me, and he should be very afraid. zzzzL.

didja ever? hunh?

didja ever get the feeling that something Huge was coming? (no- aside from Uncle Morty for sedar). something Really Important...a shift...a change...a new way? i've been fidgety and uncomfortable for months now and really have had no clue why (other than the obvious)...but this felt more...hmmm...i don't know how to explain it. then today i had a few blessed moments of peace to myself on the deck with a cup of coffee and a cigarette (yessss i know) and in the midst of bodily pollution, i had an epiphany so sweet and brilliant and gentle but so stunningly clear. it made me ashamed for a moment to be on the deck polluting my body when such a wonderful gift came from Somewhere That Cared, even as i desecrated the temple so to speak. and i realized in that lightening bolt of a moment that art and i were about to have a paradigm shift. actually, we're going old school...back to when i made art for fun and bliss, rather than to prove to a particular person that i was relevant and the real deal. back when i just did it and whatever happened ...happened. and the sticky thing that is true, is that i never cared one way or the other if i was making money from my art or just making art...i had set my life up so i didn't need to depend on art as a way to survive ...so i could just express myself and be free in it...and not worry about galleries and commissions and stuff like that. last summer i determined that i did not want to be a fulltime artist again just for that reason. and i stopped the semi-madness that i was creating in my life and heart. but i didn't stop the part that still wanted to prove something to that one person who should have mattered most...the person who should have cared either way. and i bought into the lie i told myself that i needed to do that, and then i could go back to being more authentic - to over-abuse a term. so this morning at 6am-ish, i just stopped. and the relief was amazing. and it energized me immediately. and i said, oh- so this is what you've been trying to say all along. and i got busy in my studio for an hour of bliss. and the hands and the heart and the spirit re-remembered how very cool it was to work together, rather than each being off in their own worlds. and it's not that i'm quitting art, per se, it's more that i am re-balancing life. and i have a sneaky suspicion that that Next Big Thing is right around the corner as some stars have lined up. so my dreams? the ones i've set aside for pointless hours with glue and metal and solder and wood? the KitaBear Respite House...that one. that needs some attention. and i do believe it may happen sooner, now that it has my attention again. it is all just so good and tasty. L.

i've been up for hours...pacing the deck...taking care of the usual morning stuff - feeding animals, letting animals in and out and in and out...and trying to come to terms with some things that have brewed stronger than my coffee. an old aquaintance has been living here as a guest for some time now, and it really truly is time that they leave. but how to make that happen without destroying the good parts that they bring to life? for every yin there is yang...every seemingly destructive thing has a part of it that is good and needed...you hate getting a shot, but it provides protection against disease...that type of thing but deeper. i have stared down depression and come to an agreement with her. i have worked around chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia. i have come to terms, for the most part, with my changing middle-aged body and cut myself some slack in the Barbie department. but my long-term houseguest is much more deeply entrenched i suspect: fear. and time and again she has shown herself to be a liar...holding up the magnifying glass to show a pouncing lion, when it's really a cuddly kitten. fear does have super-powers though. i look around my studio, or visit friends, and see my artwork and am astonished sometimes that it's from my hand. i remember being in the moment that i created it...the zone..the blissful moments when the divine inspiration flowed. and now i have 3 incredible opportunities presented to me...and the concentration and decision-making and flow of grace - poof. since i KNOW i can do it, and would normally have finished these pieces in a snap, i had to step back and ask myself why not now. a little fear - a little edge - is good. it's a great motivator. but once it gets stuck on a hamster wheel in your gut, it has the power to stop you cold. and that's where i am. i have ideas swirling in my brain. i yell Pick One...just Pick One. plan the work and work the plan. but as i begin on one, i fear it won't be good enough or say enough or convey what i hoped or look amatuerish or...the list is endless. just to finish anything right now would be a major undertaking. perhaps the problem is that i've spent every waking spare moment (and a few on the doze) in the studio...staring at these half-hearted half-started projects. perhaps i need sensory input of other sorts in order to channel them through my vision. perhaps i need to cut through the mess that keeps whispering that no good deed goes unpunished...that the more i want something, the more unattainable it will become...coming closer each time to the goal, only to have the rug pulled out...the charlie brown football syndrome, i call it. did he ever learn? every time lucy held that football, he'd get running up to kick it and blammo - she'd pull it away at the last second and he'd be flat on the ground again. but i guess the lesson is that he did indeed keep running up to that football. if Charles Schulz was alive in front of me today, i would ask him to Just Once let charlie brown kick the fuck out of that pigskin and launch it through the goalposts touchdown game over he won. just to break this evil spell for the rest of us. so i apologize if it sounds like i'm whining...i'm not. and i don't feel like a victim, and am not looking for pity. i'm just working it out here with my fingers on the keyboard. both of them, having never learned to type properly. i don't know if it's a lack of...or too much of. i suspect too much of. i have ideas galore...enough to fill an etsy store - buy one! i see the finished piece in my mind. but to start means a committment to an idea and a process and what if? i repeat a mantra I Am Capable Of This as i pace the deck, once again scaring the neighbors...i ritualize my studio experience with a particular song, and some incense...i stare at my art supplies and threaten to throw them from the second floor windows and use that space for a nice recliner and plasma tv. and invariably they hear this and cackle back at me. i feel guilty sitting at the computer as it takes time from the studio. i get in studio-mode and suddenly remember i never called gail back to explain that the one-second call from my mother ended up a full drama and i didn't think 11pm was an appropriate time to re-call so i better shoot her an email to tell her so she doesn't think i'm an ass. i know though, come monday morning at 6:15am when the alarm goes off, i will have creativity and urges coarsing through me like St Elmo's fire. and as the clocks tick on the delivery dates for these projects, i am becoming more landlocked. send the coast guard. oy...enough introspection. any deeper inside and i'll turn inside out..oooo now there's an idea for a sculpture. and by the way...you may have noticed a lot more typos, and i apologize...this new computer has a spanky keyboard with the number pad on the right-hand side, and it just screws up my orientation. i am tired of backspacing, so if spellcheck doesn't catch it, i just don't care anymore. i realize that to the writers out there this is akin to petting a cat against the grain of fur growth, but cut me slack here. ok - back to pacing. L.

art trade

i am trading in art. i will be organizing my own religion: Linduism. it will be a fun religion without guilt or shame. and we will have cake. please let me know if you're interested, as i need a head count before i decide to throw my art supplies out the window as i travel 55mph down RT 81 and head Somewhere Else. it has not been my favorite day, artwise. oh the mannequin is doing fine...except for throwing a molten piece of plastic at my lip, so now i look like i have a major case of lip herpes. but that goes with the turf when you're wielding a power tool. can i say how much i heart my dremel?? enough to say "heart." the pseudo-dremel i was using was no comparison. and with the universal chuck, i feel downright butch. i just had The Viewing...pictures sent to me from the gallery of my piece in pieces. actually, it didn't look that badly damaged, which made me wonder how un-wonderful it was when i sent it. kind of like "well, how do YOU like your new haircut," kind of thing. of course, i only saw small areas. but i wonder if they were aware of how badly damaged my pieces look when they AREN'T badly damaged? which led me to the conclusion that perhaps beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and i am really nearsighted. see, i can't do "pretty." i tried. really. and those damn pink fairy wings of death are the closest i've ever come...to suicide. my soul spews out the junk in what i call Post Traumatic Assemblage. i get chills over rusty metal and weathered wood. anything copper is a delight to my eyes and i must own it. i have to have something to say when i make art, even if the message is not apparent to the beholder...it is to me. so i had invested a big chunk of that voice in this piece, and actually was able to let it go off into the world. and it was actually supposed to end up as a gift. then some ass of a fedex person threw it on a belt thingie somewhere and now....well you know the rest. and i'm done with that part. now to wait for a reply to see if the gallery people think it's salvagable, and if so - plan a trip to NH for a weekend. there are worse things. and maybe this religion thing will work out better anyway. i am not an upbeat enough person day-to-day to fit into the art world, i suspect. i am like the lemony snickett of art...things happen to me. they are Things That Only Happen To Linda. like molten plastic flying off a dremel at warp speed and striking the inside INSIDE i tell you of my lip. i am a walking disaster zone at times...like the cloud around Pig Pen in charlie brown? that is my weird zone. my life is a rickety zen circus. and so that is why i feel qualified to begin my own religion. i understand. i have probably been through ANYthing you can experience, so when you come to me for counsel, i will shake my head knowingly (and snicker under my breath) and know how to advise you. i will offer penance in the form of pedicures and weekend retreats in wonderful places. (TBD). the only sin, per se, will be housework. and believe me i have not visited that particular sin in some time. i could go on and on here, but a religion has to have some mystery, so trust me on this. it will be very cool. i need a logo and an icon now. and a tiara, i think. most religious leaders have some sort of headgear. well...see there...it's working already! i feel much better just THINKING about Linduism. maybe i'll offer a special deal for the first 10 communicants or something. hmm. tempting. peace be with you. L.

do not tell the amish...

kicking and screaming, i have joined facebook. i don't know why...i have no clue what the etiquette or rules or purpose is of facebook. i am a lemming. i figured i needed a new way to feel insecure...i mean, are you judged by how many people friend you? what if no one friends me? and what if they do?? i barely have time to return emails and post here. i have a naked mannequin in front of me, a constant whine about not enough art time, last year's birthday present for angelfriend staring at me, a piece of art that got delivered to NH in, well, pieces, a gypsy woman on the west coast who persists like a terrier with a bone PERSISTS in waking me up at dark o'clock, and a dog with potty issues. it's a full life. but there i am. on facebook. i would have thought that i was available by phone, mail or email to anyone who cared. and vise versa. and when i joined, i had a million (give or take) people just waiting for me to friend them. i have no idea who some of these people are. am i obliged? will it hurt their feelings? and my name isn't even right because apparently i started to fill out the form before and said nah, but it registered anyway. does that make me a fake friend? my head could spin off and take flight right about now. and now i see a friend (in real life) on there has a different last name again and i thought she was just going to visit the guy for a week. for the love of God. and what about old fashioned mail?? the feel of the paper, the handwriting, the sensory goodness of a letter or card...i got a card in the mail yesterday, and i swear to you i giggled...someone took time to find this card, write a note in it, put it in an envelope, find a stamp, and mail this to me...because although they are busier than satan at a strippers convention, she knew it would make me giggle like the ice cream man just dumped his inventory on my driveway. i just carried it around for a while without opening it...just savoring it. i know - i am a dork. and that is why you like me. so i am apparently attached to the entire world electronically like 6 degrees from kevin bacon, but honestly, i almost crave the days of the 5-cent phone call from a real phonebooth. i'm going back to my own world. there is safety in geometry. i'm going back to square 1. someone grab my frye boots and tie dye. peace. L.

free association

...because not much is free anymore....i need your thoughts...post or email them to me please...when you think of "cage" what comes to mind? (besides Nicholas)...a prison? safety? a cozy place to cuddle? think of the structure...the think of what the implication could be....talk among yourselves. then tell me. i am re-doing miss mannequin. i was almost done, and went kanoodling around the web, found a video by a BFF and LO! there was an eerily similar idea. hers, of course. now, i don't remember seeing it before (hell, i can't remember the first line i just wrote) but i know i MUST have seen it at one time. so...i begin again. and i have a trillion ideas that i want to bring to life, but they keep coming back to a similar (yet different than before) theme. so help me whittle this. plus, i want to know how far from center i really am. and as a bonus for helping, i won't regal/bore you with the incredibly horrific day i had yesterday...it set the bar for horrificality. L.

update on the mannequin...please hand me the flamethrower. i am seriously thinking of trading in my art wings for something more practical and less frustrating....like, maybe doing call-in horoscopes and fortune telling. i mean, Miss Cleo is still doing time, right? maybe I could nudge in on her corner a little. on the way to my Lake, I pass an ice cream stand called Cleo's...i figure it's like the Ice Cream of the Future that they sell at the fair. hmm..maybe i could do Margaritas....yeah - Karmaritas. brilliant! by the time people figure out it's a plain old margarita, they'll be plotzed. okay. perfect. now...to order glassware, an apron, and does anyone know how to make a margarita?

i did SO just spend 45 minutes here. you will too. just wait and see. and read the descriptions. hoot!

it's hot. very hot. and very humid. and this morning i became incredibly frustrated that my spanky new Universal Chuck wouldn't screw onto my dremel. much profanity ensued, destroying any zen moment of peace in my studio. finally i said "Shut The Front Door" to my inner Tim Allen, grabbed my dremel, and the Universal Chuck and headed straight back to Loews to make THEM do it. there was a woman working in the tool dept...refreshing. she looked at it for, oh, maybe a nano-second and advised me that the dremel UC is the only non-Universal part. do wah? it seems that, in bold RED letters on the side of my rotary handheld tool, it says Ryobi. der. no - double der. oy so now what?? i hate to admit it. i bought another handheld rotary tool that says dremel on it...rather, Dremel. Queen of the craftsperson's tools. and it was right then and there that i realized i still had more lessons coming in patience and trust. chill runs through my body. those are not easy lessons for someone with an alphabet soup of chemical persuasions running through them. sigh. but i love hardware places. little mom & pops, big huge chain stores...anywhere where there's a smell of lumber and sawdust and shiny things to captive my eye...nuts, bolts, doohickies that do god-knows-what. if Stacey & Clinton showed up at my door and told me what not to wear, i'd say You Are Right. now, where is Ty Pennington. it's no secret i have a thang for him. not just his cutedtude, but his tool-itude. and as i wandered through the aisles, eyes glazed, i realized that i have once again outgrown my studio. so, as i hunt for more spacious digs, i must still work here in this configuration, so today is organization day. my usual M.O. is to just go buy a bunch o' organzation-type things...i keep sterlite in business, although i don't like the plasticy asthetic. it makes sense though, when you're trying to corral a ton or two of greasy, rusty metal. and my tools are all over the place. or i should say WERE all over the place. they now have a little spot all their own...a niche that fits the tool organizer i bought exactly. exactly. as if this niche was just waiting for this specific organizer. i am teary over this. i tried organizing my metal stuff, but that is confounding...small, medium, large?? rusty, non-rusty?? nails, hinges, doo dads?? but oddly, i have a mental inventory of everything (somewhat) and kind of know where the part i need will be. maybe-ish. and that is close enough for me. so if you need a not-a-dremel tool that works perfectly fine but will not accept a Universal Chuck...let me know. because i do not have room for 2 of them. i needed to step away from my mannequin project...i did something to it last night that i've been debating over. i just did it, finally. and i hate it. and it's a big hate...like a start-over-almost hate. it stands in the middle of my studio, so i have to look down and squeeze around it in order to not look. but i won't. i'm giving it time off for bad behavior, and will look again later. ok - break time's over. time to round up the ratchets. i'm feeling all zen-like again and sipping some incredible tea. note to dremel: rename the mofo part...it is not Universal...one size does not fit all. like many things in life and my closet. L.

click it. i'm still speechless. talk among yourselves. i'll give you a topic authentic vs. authenticity...which is harder?

regarding friends

first some housekeeping: the dog still smells...the house still smells...the cat has been renamed houdini for his uncanny ability to open large sliding doors to gain access to the world. now for the friends...through many circumstances this summer, i have chosen, or been forced, to think about friendships...what makes them tick...what makes them wonderful...what makes them change. i have been blessed with some incredible friends...male & female...and certainly not out of anything i've brought to the table this past year...and i hope that each person knows how very much i cherish them...it has been a difficult year to be my friend - the constant drama...the physical challenges that knock me down...the fight back up that creates a determined frenzy in my bee bonnet...and yet, for the most part, you understand and accept these things as "me" and sometimes even more so than i accept them of myself. some friendships have cooled, others gone away completely, and these are like a death that grips me with deep mourning, even though it may have been a mutally agreeable handshake. let me explain that i fight each day to get out of bed - the constant pain from fibromyalgia and the memory loss and fog...the comatose fatigue from CFS...throw in a sprinkling of migraines and of course, a little neurosis and it's a cocktail hell-bent on destruction from time to time. now, i don't tell you all this to invite you to a pity party, or play victim...it is what it is. but rather to say that it is a challenge being myself at times, and i recognize that it is a challenge being you trying to be a friend to me. and yet you are. you see all that stuff, yet don't "see" it...you see "me" and for that you get a gold star and the deepest love that i can give...my heart is yours...my hand is yours...for you have made me strong just by being my friend and by knowing when i need to go slow, or stop for a bit, or kick it into gear like maybe there is no tomorrow. so this is sounding a lot sadder than i intended...my intention was to say that i am amazed by you...your accomplishments...your strength...your life...your expertise at high hurdles and evasive maneuvers...and for what it's worth, you have my undying loyalty and friendship...i will be there for you two-fold...you can call on me any time...you are my friend. simply put, yet complexly practiced. thank you. L.

nature-gotta love her

so the thunderstorms have been loud and violent. that means diva has spent quite a bit of time under the bed or in the tub hiding. 2 nights ago at 2:15am, there was a break in the action...no angels bowling...she wakes me up to go out, since she hadn'y peed in a while. she made her way across our fenced yard to her privacy potty area, and i walked across our deck (4" off ground) to trip the motion lights in case a possum or God-knows-what is out there. as i made my way to the corner, something caught my eye a moment too soon...PPPPFFFFTTTT! stinky cat a/k/a skunk. i am covered. diva, sensing excitement...er - smelling it, actually, comes tearing across the yard. without thinking, i shuck off my befouled bathrobe, and grab her before the little striped bastard can reload. husband hears the commotion and comes running downstairs ...a spotlight in one hand and a Ruger in the other. (read back a bunch o posts - i live with a hillbilly). so there we stand...in the backyard of a very upscale (til we moved in) residential area...naked...stinking...and him with a gun in his hand...me hissing "don't shoot it" and all of us with tears running down our faces, courtesy of a very small, VERY stinky skunk. i run to the downstairs bathroom with diva, who has a residual stink on her by now, and begin a process not to different from Norma Rae in that famous scene from the movie. husband sits outside, still naked, waiting for the thing (skunk) to show itself and meet it's maker. 5:30am, back to bed for a few more minutes of sleep before manic monday. husband finally comes to bed, but now he stinks...the humid air held the droplets of skunk spray and they are clinging to him like a scared kid at nursery school. our house, having finally recovered from the dead-thing-under-the-fireplace smell, is now hazy with skunkstink. AND and we cannot open the windows because..yes...it has begun to storm again. i was glad to go to work. i kissed the ground, the very unvacuumed carpet, when the computers crashed at 3pm, and i was able to leave at 5pm like everyone else, rather thnan 7pm like...oh, just me. do not come to my house for a while. trust me. today is tuesday. i am hoping to have left all that behind me, and promise not to forget and wear my rain galoshes to work again today. L.

some done - some in progress

The Longing

Music by David Newman, sung by Mira...Radhe Suite I, The Longing....Lake by God

here's a brain teaser for you...why is it that when an artist has a momentary blockage, they doubt themselves as an artist altogether? ok - let me rephrase that...i am wondering why, when i have a day in the studio that's much less productive than i'd like, why do i begin to have self-doubt that inspiration will ever return? no, let me rephrase that...why did i take a day off work to stare at a mannequin that may cost me $1800 to ship across country and not glue, nail, burn, cut or otherwise schmutz it up? nada. and why, i ask rhetorically since i know the answer, do i then wonder what i will do with all these art supplies and rusty metal when i (once again) give up art entirely? tomorrow. gotta love mom for her stick-to-it-tiveness..."maybe it's not meant to be." which re-flamed me. after listing all the famous people who failed many many times before hitting the Big One...Thomas Edison, Ben Franklin (invented the $100 bill AND the five-and-dime store), my personal hero Albert Einstein, after listing all these people who surely must have goofed up once or twice along the way to creating light, and relativity theories, and all other manner of important Thought, she said, well i just hate to see you waste a good day off. i am caught here, in this parallel universe. it's like a mork and mindy thing sometimes. i wonder at times who my real parents are. and if, indeed, i am from that genetic stock that can simmer down the sauce to it's simplest form, to create a beautiful reduction from the most complex ingredients, why then do i insist on fighting the inevitable? why don't i just sit on a scratchy plaid couch on the porch with Jesus on the 8-track player (volume 11) wishing away all the sin i encounter? why do i fight that? is it inevitable? should i just let it all go now, and save myself years of potential Big Thought? not like Thomas Edison, Big Thought, but a thought bigger than myself, perhaps. just give a huge exhale like i've been holding my breath for 52 years...a huge WHEW and as i exhale, i am suddenly wearing lavender stretch pants, a sensible haircut, rockports with arch supports, and a large gold-like cross around my neck. it would be like the nutty professor, in a way. so here i go ranting, and you know i'm only half-kidding...i love my mother, and i accept that she exists in a world of her own creation where it's safe and dependable and anything that wrinkles that is from satan. apparently, i am frequently satan's puppet, but not as much as when i was younger. so there's that to point to and be proud. i could just go on, but you'd think i was making most of it up, so i will stop here. and besides, it doesn't seem christian to shine a little light on the woman who is grandmother to my diva dog...the only person other than myself that diva has never bitten. dogs know things, AND they have a Red Phone to God. i'm betting on the lottery tonight, so i don't want to piss Anyone off. and i'm hoping diva can put in a good word. i tried doing that animal communication with her...god knows i was able to figure out my first husband...a dog shouldn't be that much harder...but i can't figure out how to translate "lottery" into terms a dog would understand..."many many many good girl bones and toys and no kitties but lots of bunnies to play with," just hasn't worked. so there goes that career. and to be honest, Cesar Millan has that market pretty well cornered. is he not highly attractive? as is his wife. i'm just sayin. oy bad dog. so i wish i would have paid better attention in misty's class last year, because i could sure use some help on this design element for the aforementioned million-dollar mannequin. i may just shove her in a coffin (the mannequin - not misty), say she's my aunt, watch as they respecfully load her into the cargo hold of the first jetblue outta here, and set my watch back a little on my way out to the west coast. and unless the plane goes down...my "aunt" will arrive in 1 piece. so that's niggling at me too. i know i'll pay out the snout for shipping. i knew that and planned for it, so it's no surprise and i don't care. it's just that there are only 50/50 odds that she will arrive there in the same condition that she left in. oy...and then there's the return trip. good lord. hopefully there won't be a return trip. i'll have to talk to the dog about that too. ok then goodnight. L.

so here i am...another wednesday off...it's a legal day off - i took a personal day to rock out on some art that's been facing me down. diva went to gramma's for the day...car is in the shop for inspection...cat is lazing on the upper deck...it's all about me. and 1000 projects that all need completion at the same time...a mug of Bengal Spice tea perfumes my studio, mingling with Jai Uttal and Loreena Mckennitt... last night i realized i still had to name my september show, get postcards printed and mailed and and and. oy. good oy. an eagle flew over diva's pond this morning...beautiful...graceful...divine...powerful...left over from last night's magic when we took a chance on mosquitos, coyotes and a stray bobcat, and walked over to the pond just as dusk was closing it's eyes for the night. a huge fireball in water was mesmerizing...reflecting a hazy, huge orange full moon...a fish splashed in it's turnaround and diva sat staring at the water, a huge, contented sigh. the air was charged with freesia from my neighbor's garden...making it's way through the trees to us...an owl hooted a call from the west waiting till it heard response from the east...above us bats flew silently, dancing above the treetops then dipping low toward the water...nature's night crew punching the timeclock...it's good...so very good...to connect with the earth again...

smmmmack down

ok so wasn't it just yesterday...or earlier today (who can remember??) that i showed you an image of the front exterior of my mannequin?? wasn't it? somebody say amen, yes sister. okay. well...fuggetaboutit. my muse: la la la la oh beautiful music la la hear my gentle voice la la HEY! YEAH YOU! just STEP aside already move back get away SIT...are you NOT listening? are you NOT?? oy vey for the love of yeshewah go go now. ME: huh? der? Muse:not like THAT! like THIS...this is what i've been saying if you clean the potatos out. Me:oohhh....oooohoohoo (kramer-esque). followed by rip rip tear scrape printer printer printer. Muse:and put some music on...Prince, Mary J, get the brain moving! ** so, needless to say, please disregard the other image. it will be a hanging collage, not to fear. i love it. however, the new & improved exterior of the mannequin...well, it's spankier and fits the message a lot better. who knew?? nu? oh and by the way...no bad kitty....actually, dead wild things. they crawled under a space from the outside that goes to the inside under our fireplace. and died. i'm glad they trusted us and felt safe enough with us to spend their final moments with us, but i'm really pissed off that they did. this will be must more involved than a simple carpet shampooing which seemes laughably like a day in an ice cream factory compared to what may now need to be done. i can only hope the neighbors don't goad you-know-who into a DIY project. L.

okay - i just wrote an epic post and it's GONE. just the image remains. so i'll just tell you that the image is a sneak peek of the exterior front part of my mannequin. i'm too ticked off at losing the rest of this to go on, so goodnight. Linda