Still Here (somewhere)

So, I hope these photos are proof enough that I exist somewhere.  Or at least proof that my cat does.

I haven't posted much lately.  I'm not sure for what reasons.  I'll list some possibilities.

1.  Lazy
2.  Busy exploring Charleston
3.  Taste testing iced coffee
4.  Lazy again
5.  In too good of a mood to bitch, and this blog has been mostly about bitching.
6.  Kind of lost and not sure what is going on.

My Dad died in early December, right when we were packing up for our move.  Christmas really didn't seem to happen for me.  Yes, there were presents and visiting my sister and her family.  But there were no Christmas trees and lights and other happy stuff.  Then we land in Charleston and start setting up house.  My daughter started her new school and I started getting to work in my new studio.  Yet nothing felt right.  Nothing felt valid unless I had a parent to tell.  Things are FINALLY starting to gel, yet I do not feel right with myself.  I do not feel the same.  I'm not sure yet how to feel.

This place is good.  The house, the city, the weather.  And I'm really at my best when I'm bitching about things.  I feel I have it too good when so many people are struggling (or worse).  Good God, am I going to bitch about having it too good!?!?!?!

I've completed one new piece and am almost done with another.  I was terrified of not being able to create, but so far, so good.  If an old photo of Charles Darwin can set me to work then my creative switch must be turned to "high."

I know there's plenty out there to bitch about, but since I don't subscribe to the local paper and don't get on Facebook as much as I used to, I'm just rolling along blissful and ignorant.

If anyone has any suggestions for something for the housewife to crab about, please let me know.

Archie and Edith Go South

Upon arriving in Charleston (ok, well before), I perused a handful (ok, stacks) of decorating books and magazines to glean ideas for decorating our "new" house.  I had visions of a lovely living room with a sofa and two matching chairs.

There are some things I did not consider.

I like a festive fabric.  My husband likes dark animal hides.

My husband likes to recline.  I prefer to remain upright.

Our butts are shaped differently.

I wanted a chair that would go with our new paint color.  I wanted to coordinate with the other objects that I had slated for this room.  I wanted the room to be light and uplifting.

My husband really didn't give a shit.  He thinks with his butt.

Perhaps I can work with this?  In a world where there are worse problems, I can't complain (much).  But the second he asks me to fetch him a beer, all hell will break loose and someone will have a serious problem.

You're Not Listening!

Today's Christmas card take -- three.

Yep -- postcard style photo cards.

No personal message.

No signature.

No ink.

No glitter.

No ho ho ho.

Sigh.

The condoms of Christmas cards.

I'm starting to wonder if latex gloves are worn on the senders' Christmas card assembly lines.

I feel dirty and nonfestive.

The Damn Phone

That's what it is called it this household.  The Damn Phone.

When it rings, I ask, "Who's on The Damn Phone?'  Or, "Who's calling on The Damn Phone this time of night?"

For the love of Pete, I detest The Damn Phone.

People call you up on it to talk you into doing things you don't want to do.  Sometimes it's an out-of-towner wanting to drop off their child so they can get themselves a little afternoon delight.  Or a solicitor wanting some money.  Or gangs of solicitors wanting all of my money and then some.  How about a little (or a lot) of volunteering.  Or calls that begin with, "I hope you don't mind, but . . ."

And, of course, the worst.  Someone has died.

This morning, I have a lot to do.  A LOT TO DO.  I've got to clean my house out for the renters, and what the hell, I just better get it done before my mother-in-law arrives on the 21st.  That's a long way away you say? But I also have to pack and plan for the movers on the 18th.  But I can't turn on the vacuum until people return calls that I made earlier this morning.  I have important questions for the head of the school that my daughter will be attending in Charleston.  I have to know if the plumber is going to replace my kitchen faucet so the renters don't get flooded out the first moment they need a glass of water.

I hate it when I get my info. together and dial out on The Damn Phone, only to discover I've got to sit by The Damn Phone and wait to actually talk to a real person.  I usually make my husband dial out, but since he's on the road, I have to do it.

So that's it.  Just a little bit of bitching.  But inside I'm seething.  I have important shit to do.  And I better not find out that these folks I'm waiting on are just standing next to the coffee maker waiting to get themselves a cup.  Maybe they are just avoiding The Damn Phone.

Just One More Try

Each year, I do the Christmas Card post.  Sometimes I copy from the year before and leave it at that.  Other times I copy and edit and embellish.  This time, I'm just going to plead.

If I am on your Christmas Card list, I'm delighted.  Whether you are a friend, an acquaintance, or merely someone who has repaired my furnace or cleaned my teeth, it doesn't matter.  I love a card.  I like those cards to be cute, glittery, gorgeous, filled with confetti, festooned with ribbon, city stylized, kissing kousin kountry, red and green, blue and white, black and yellow, and decorated with Jesus, snowmen, zebras, angels, trees, RVs, balls, bells, and whistles.

I also will read your newsletter.  If you care to send me the long form, I will happily read it because, chances are, I care.  And I really like it when you tuck in a photo of your kids, your dogs or your vacation home.   Especially the kid.   If I like you, then I probably like your kid.  I even want to know if they've made the honor roll or graduated from braces and headgear.

Just please, please, please don't send that one-sided, unsigned, undecorated photo of your dog, kid, or vacation home that poses as a complete holiday card.  And when you print out the envelope on your computer and your housekeeper then stuffs all of the envelopes, I'm going to want to tell you to stuff it. Hell, I even get a little calendar from the dude at the local used car lot and my local realtor (I haven't purchased a house here in 15 years).  Put a bit of ink on the damn thing or don't send it.  I'd rather you send me a picture on facebook of your middle finger.  At least that's personal.

Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Happy Kwanzaa
Happy Chanukah
and so on

For the Love of Christ, Show Us Your Bling

A couple of months ago, I went with my family to New York City.  My husband was participating in a conference and my daughter and I were there to visit the zoo, shop, and see as much artwork as possible.  One outing involved what my daughter considered to be a long subway ride.  As I had already inflicted several trips by subway upon her (some involving incorrect stops resulting in more subway rides), my daughter was a bit tired by our third day of sightseeing and subway cruising.   After several people had exited at a busy stop, my daughter spotted two open seats near the door.  She was on her way to the closet seat when a twenty-something, able-bodied couple pushed in front of her to take the seats.  We have been to the city several times and are quite used to pushy people, but this time my daughter got just a bit of a quivery upper lip.

I shrugged and tried to tell her with my eyes that this was just what happens in the big city.  I also wanted to tell those seat-stealing folks how I felt about them with my eyes.   Instead of looking deep into the eyes of the worst offender (young, well-cut dude), my eyes were enchanted by the movement of something shiny.  Very shiny.  And very gold.  And large.  Yes, this dude was able-bodied enough to be able to bear the weight of a 6” crucifix.   Six inches might not seem like a great deal, but when it is a chunk of heavy swinging metal -- that’s a heck of a lot of cross to wear.  Especially for a man who did not ask himself, in front of a tired child, what would Jesus do?

I’m thinking that Jesus would stand while a child sat.  Jesus would be aware of his surroundings and would give a damn about the suffering of others, no matter how minor.  Jesus wouldn’t sprawl over two subway seats.  And I’m assuming this dude is wearing the cross because he is representing Jesus.  Could be he’s just making a fashion statement.  Whatever.  He’s an ass adorned with a cross.  A cross that is likely to take out the front teeth of anyone that is in swinging radius. 

We stand.  We ride.  We get off several stops later.

I begin to notice others wearing crosses.   While I see many, I’ve yet to see one quite as large.

I noticed three women at the hotel wearing crucifixes.  Smaller.  More discreet.  Yet somehow, just as disturbing as the dude’s.  Each one was inset with diamonds.  Did these women go into their local jeweler’s and say, “I’d like a diamond necklace.  No.  Wait.  I’d like a symbol of my Savior.   No.  Wait.  Can I combine the two?”  Or maybe these necklaces were gifts from their adoring husbands.  Did their husbands walk into the jewelry store and request a special something for their pious brides?  They certainly wore these pendants with pride.  The glint in their eyes seemed to say, “Look upon my chest.  There you will see my love for Christ.  I know I love him.  But I want YOU to know that I love the Lord.  I am a lamb of my Savior.  I also don’t give a shit about children mining for gold and diamonds in African countries.  They are not lambs of the Savior. I am blessed and those children can dig those freakin’ diamonds up for me.”

If you must show innocent bystanders that you are a Christian, forget the bling.  Get yourself two rough sticks of wood, lash them together with ragged twine or a bit of shoelace too small for a homeless person to use, and string that around your neck.  Make sure it’s pretty darn big.  And heavy.  You might also want to think about adding some nails and thorns for a bit of discomfort.  It would be a bit easier, and far less expensive, to go about doing unto others as you would have them do unto you.  And nearby children would not have to fear having their teeth knocked out.

Everything's Temporary

Almost two months since I've posted!

I guess one could say I'm temporarily away.

I've been artmaking and housewifeing.

I've been preparing for (and hiding from) some life-changing events.

My dad has been ill for quite a while and is now in and out of nursing homes and hospitals.  Hopefully he can recover enough to move on to an assisted living facility.  I'm thinking his attitude is not positive lately.  I'm not sure how I would feel if I were 85 and had lost my spouse of 60 years and my home of 50 years.

As for homes, when my husband and I moved to State College, PA, 15 years ago, he planted a (mental) flag and declared we would retire and die here.  As I said in my title, "everything's temporary." Announcements to come later.

Hopefully, I will soon post regularly again.  I just have to get back in touch with my old, sarcastic, inner self.  That part of me has been worn down to a nub.  I must nurture it back to life.