Sometimes I can't get used to the idea of blogging, either. "You mean I actually have to go online to post? I can't just have new entries magically appear on the thing?" I say to myself. "Then again, perhaps that's a good thing. After all, would you really want the world to know the kind of thoughts you were having watching Harry Potter?"
Normally, I'd say no. I wouldn't want my innate coolness factor to drop by about sixty points, especially since I usually hover at the edge of whatever makes one cool anyway. Since this is the lovely and somewhat anonymous world of the net, what the heck. I'll probably end up losing those points some other way.
The main thing I kept thinking during the movie was, "What the heck are they feeding these kids nowadays?" I know the main characters are supposed to be about fourteen but daaaaamnnnnnn. When I was fourteen, my friends and I were these scrawny things that looked, well, fourteen. This bunch in the movie could pass for much older. I mean, when Harry took his shirt off in the Prefect's Bath, his chest looked positively ripped and his arms had muscles. The only one who really looked somewhat like fourteen was Moanin' Myrtle. Yes, I know the actors are actually older - more like sixteen - but I'll say it again. Even when I was sixteen, I was this scrawny thing. The biggest thing about me was my hair (and no, it wasn't because it was a Southern thing to do. It was a glam thing to do.)
The other thought I had while I watched the movie was, "Where in the world did they find so many redheads - and twins? Hmmm...red hair could look really good on a guy. Where could I find one, preferably over twenty?"
Oh good god. I sound like such a perv. I need a life.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
It begins...
Well, the first third of the holiday season is over. On Thanksgiving, I visited the kinfolk, where I was an accessory (after the fact) to the death of at least one turkey. I didn't murder anyone else...although a time or two, it was a close call. People don't know how close they came to having their insolent brats sacrificed to the T.V. gods so I could watch the National Dog Show in relative peace. Maybe I should have performed a sacrifice anyway - last year's winner, Gracie, didn't even place this year.
There seemed to be a thousand children packed into the house; running around, jumping and yelling "MOM!!!!!!" and "CAN I _insert verb here_ WHEN YOU GET DONE?" In reality, I think there were only five - which, in my mind, is about five too many. I had more interesting conversations with the dogs, cats and goats. Now I've just got to prepare myself for the onslaught of "YOU CAN GET ME THIS" -itis. I try to avoid it until December 1 - the operative word being try, since stores set things out at the end of August this year.
Oh boy. I can hardly wait.
There seemed to be a thousand children packed into the house; running around, jumping and yelling "MOM!!!!!!" and "CAN I _insert verb here_ WHEN YOU GET DONE?" In reality, I think there were only five - which, in my mind, is about five too many. I had more interesting conversations with the dogs, cats and goats. Now I've just got to prepare myself for the onslaught of "YOU CAN GET ME THIS" -itis. I try to avoid it until December 1 - the operative word being try, since stores set things out at the end of August this year.
Oh boy. I can hardly wait.
Monday, November 28, 2005
The extra, extra long entry
It's been a month since I posted any sketches or art?! Good god. It's not that I've been lazy, except in posting. Here's some pages from my sketchbook. Sorry about the quality of some of the photos - I have to use a digital camera and the light has been pretty variable today.
Text (left upper corner):
Octopi(i?)
(from photos)
(right upper corner)
I originally began looking at octopi(i?) as research for an idea I had (Cthulhu) but they're pretty damn cool in their own right.
The skin is mottled and "lumpy."
Some are the "chameleons of the sea," changing their own color to blend in with their surroundings.
(left middle)
mottled greenish/grey with red & pink highlights. Smooth
(lower left corner...and yes, that is the chicken from the movie Chicken Run you see through the paper.)
Now scientists have discovered that some octopi walk on two arms when they need to.
(lower right corner)
Since they have no bones, they can squeeze into very tiny openings.
(bottom, nest to walking octopus)
keep truckin'...(Ha! After I wrote that, the Dead's "Truckin'" came on the radio.)
(Left side text)
This is my favorite pencil. Despite the efforts of my instructors, I still love to draw with my Techniclick II.
On the right side are notes I made while I was listening to the Victory Garden. I listen to the TV or radio quite a bit as I work - it distracts my brain so it can't nitpick what my hand is drawing. The notes say: From the Victory Garden: carrots, parsley - caterpillar food (butterfly garden.) Butterflies love purples, blues, yellow. Red is low on the butterfly scale.
(Upper left corner)
Color - brown, like a dry dragon gourd.
(Upper right)
This fella was hit by ice cold water at the top of the hill - I 'rescued' him by offering the heat of my hand. The water had frozen him.
I wish I could remember the rest of his features. He looked like a monster from the fifties' movies.
(Left side)
I had a dream. I was with a lot of other people and we had to get out of this place. It looked like some place in the country but we wanted to go home. One of the people had access to an expensive (and fast) car - which we tried to pile into but the car turned into a small rectangular pallet. I held on to the black cat as they tried to start it.
Somehow, we ended up in this building - we had to go through it to get home. The halls of the place was filled halfway to the ceiling with trash. We got on top of I and walked out.
There were several people? creatures? outside the door, lined up so they could cover the entire building. They had guns. We came out and started running - they went into the building.
Looking back, I see the building we came through was the Vol State Art building.
(lower right corner)
This is one of those waiting outside the building. solid white; no "real" eyes, angular like Darryl Hannah.
Clothes, weapons, skins were white - almost blue. The area across the eyes was flat - plastic covering it.
Well, now you've had a ridiculously close look at the inside of my head. Are you scared yet?
Text (left upper corner):
Octopi(i?)
(from photos)
(right upper corner)
I originally began looking at octopi(i?) as research for an idea I had (Cthulhu) but they're pretty damn cool in their own right.
The skin is mottled and "lumpy."
Some are the "chameleons of the sea," changing their own color to blend in with their surroundings.
(left middle)
mottled greenish/grey with red & pink highlights. Smooth
(lower left corner...and yes, that is the chicken from the movie Chicken Run you see through the paper.)
Now scientists have discovered that some octopi walk on two arms when they need to.
(lower right corner)
Since they have no bones, they can squeeze into very tiny openings.
(bottom, nest to walking octopus)
keep truckin'...(Ha! After I wrote that, the Dead's "Truckin'" came on the radio.)
(Left side text)This is my favorite pencil. Despite the efforts of my instructors, I still love to draw with my Techniclick II.
On the right side are notes I made while I was listening to the Victory Garden. I listen to the TV or radio quite a bit as I work - it distracts my brain so it can't nitpick what my hand is drawing. The notes say: From the Victory Garden: carrots, parsley - caterpillar food (butterfly garden.) Butterflies love purples, blues, yellow. Red is low on the butterfly scale.
(Upper left corner)Color - brown, like a dry dragon gourd.
(Upper right)
This fella was hit by ice cold water at the top of the hill - I 'rescued' him by offering the heat of my hand. The water had frozen him.
I wish I could remember the rest of his features. He looked like a monster from the fifties' movies.
(Left side)
I had a dream. I was with a lot of other people and we had to get out of this place. It looked like some place in the country but we wanted to go home. One of the people had access to an expensive (and fast) car - which we tried to pile into but the car turned into a small rectangular pallet. I held on to the black cat as they tried to start it.
Somehow, we ended up in this building - we had to go through it to get home. The halls of the place was filled halfway to the ceiling with trash. We got on top of I and walked out.
There were several people? creatures? outside the door, lined up so they could cover the entire building. They had guns. We came out and started running - they went into the building.
Looking back, I see the building we came through was the Vol State Art building.
(lower right corner)
This is one of those waiting outside the building. solid white; no "real" eyes, angular like Darryl Hannah.
Clothes, weapons, skins were white - almost blue. The area across the eyes was flat - plastic covering it.
Well, now you've had a ridiculously close look at the inside of my head. Are you scared yet?
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Momisms
She doesn't come across them often but sometimes, when there is a dry spell between "Momisms," I forget how entertaining they can be. Yes, my mom can make interesting use of the English language. Many a time, I can remember what she said more than the actual event.
Case in point: It's been about two years now but I can remember her response to something funny. I can barely remember the event involved some guy that had been acting like he was THE MAN but that's all. Still, like it was just a few minutes ago, I can hear her on the phone saying, "Yeah - I saw that. I about laughed my pants!"
Other times, I can't help but remember what brought about the "momism." I remember the time she found some socks at a flea market that were the exact color she wanted. Thankfully, we were in the car when she took them out and read the label. Upon reading that this particular brand of sock was suitable for both men and women, she gleefully proclaimed, "Hey! I've got bisexual socks!"
So tonight, there was a new one to add to the list. She called to tell me about an encounter she and my aunt T. had earlier. It seems while they were walking, this drunk guy stopped to talk to them. Now, this guy is almost a neighbor. He lives a mile or two away, so it's not like it was some strange guy just stopping randomly. They knew him. As the tale goes, not only did this guy want to talk to them but when he got out of his truck, his pants were wet too. My mom said, "I couldn't tell if he had spilled something or if it was something else but he was as drunk as a bicycle! Then he had the nerve to ask T. if she was married!"
Like I said, my mom can make interesting use of the English language. I don't know exactly how drunk bicycles can get but I think I've got a fairly good idea. I bet she about laughed her pants tonight, too.
Case in point: It's been about two years now but I can remember her response to something funny. I can barely remember the event involved some guy that had been acting like he was THE MAN but that's all. Still, like it was just a few minutes ago, I can hear her on the phone saying, "Yeah - I saw that. I about laughed my pants!"
Other times, I can't help but remember what brought about the "momism." I remember the time she found some socks at a flea market that were the exact color she wanted. Thankfully, we were in the car when she took them out and read the label. Upon reading that this particular brand of sock was suitable for both men and women, she gleefully proclaimed, "Hey! I've got bisexual socks!"
So tonight, there was a new one to add to the list. She called to tell me about an encounter she and my aunt T. had earlier. It seems while they were walking, this drunk guy stopped to talk to them. Now, this guy is almost a neighbor. He lives a mile or two away, so it's not like it was some strange guy just stopping randomly. They knew him. As the tale goes, not only did this guy want to talk to them but when he got out of his truck, his pants were wet too. My mom said, "I couldn't tell if he had spilled something or if it was something else but he was as drunk as a bicycle! Then he had the nerve to ask T. if she was married!"
Like I said, my mom can make interesting use of the English language. I don't know exactly how drunk bicycles can get but I think I've got a fairly good idea. I bet she about laughed her pants tonight, too.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Saturday, November 05, 2005
How to enchant a candle
The candle is small. A votive. It's smooth, creamy body is white - a nice, all purpose type of color. I roll it in my hands and it warms with the heat of my body. The sensation of it changes now and it feels almost like skin.
Reaching out with all my senses, I connect with the energy around me. I feel the earth beneath my feet, cool and full of clay and the artesian water that flows through channels in the limestone. Far, far below I get the sense of heat. Motion. The heart of the planet. Far above me are the stars - suns in their own right. Around me are the sleepy hickories. Oaks. Honeysuckle. The wind is blowing now.
Earth. Air. Fire. Water. I am a part of them all and they are a part of me.
The candle is no longer an ordinary candle. In my hands, it is a vessel, waiting to be filled. I caress it now, like a cherished lover, gently rolling it in my hands as I fill it with my voice, my will.
When it's full, I gently put the candle into its holder and light it. The wick sputters as the wax melts in the blue heart of the flame but it is soon fed by a small pool that forms beneath it. As the wick feeds, the enchantment is set into motion.
Soon it is time to come back to myself. One at a time, I let the connection go. Water. Fire. Air. Earth. It is done.
Reaching out with all my senses, I connect with the energy around me. I feel the earth beneath my feet, cool and full of clay and the artesian water that flows through channels in the limestone. Far, far below I get the sense of heat. Motion. The heart of the planet. Far above me are the stars - suns in their own right. Around me are the sleepy hickories. Oaks. Honeysuckle. The wind is blowing now.
Earth. Air. Fire. Water. I am a part of them all and they are a part of me.
The candle is no longer an ordinary candle. In my hands, it is a vessel, waiting to be filled. I caress it now, like a cherished lover, gently rolling it in my hands as I fill it with my voice, my will.
When it's full, I gently put the candle into its holder and light it. The wick sputters as the wax melts in the blue heart of the flame but it is soon fed by a small pool that forms beneath it. As the wick feeds, the enchantment is set into motion.
Soon it is time to come back to myself. One at a time, I let the connection go. Water. Fire. Air. Earth. It is done.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
On a much lighter note...
Monster ModRen 3
From the Contest Directions:
"This contest askes a simple question: If the renaissance took place in more recent times, and the models were famous movie monsters/aliens, what would the artwork have looked like?"
I love this idea! Contestants photoshopped their entries. It would be hard to pick but if I had to choose, two of my favorites are "Alien's Mother" (HA!) and "T-Rex Came for His Last Supper."
From the Contest Directions:
"This contest askes a simple question: If the renaissance took place in more recent times, and the models were famous movie monsters/aliens, what would the artwork have looked like?"
I love this idea! Contestants photoshopped their entries. It would be hard to pick but if I had to choose, two of my favorites are "Alien's Mother" (HA!) and "T-Rex Came for His Last Supper."
Thanks for nothing, jerks
I thought about letting what happened to me over the weekend go. I wasn't going to say anything on this blog. "Moving on and getting on with the positive" and all but you know what? Screw that. I was in a bad spot and except for some really great folks that I'm glad I can call friends, it could have been a whole lot worse.
I've had trouble with my truck. It's been overheating. I replaced the thermostat in it last week and thought the problem was solved because I drove it - around Portland, through Gallatin a couple of times - and it ran cooler than it ever has.
Well, this past Saturday, I took my mom yard saling because her car was not drivable at the time. We drove all around Gallatin for hours and all of a sudden, guess what? It starts overheating again. Not just overheats but boils out of the resevoir. We have to stop several times to let it cool down but we eventually make it back to her house.
The trouble comes when I start to go back to my house. I had let my poor truck sit for three or four hours in the driveway to cool down. By now, it is pitch dark and a new moon when it overheats on me again on a little backroad just outside Bethpage, TN. Well, "overheat" doesn't quite describe it: it starts whistling like a tea kettle. I stop where I am to turn it off...only I can't get it started again. I try but I only succeed in running the battery down so I turn on the hazard lights and hope there is enough room for cars to pass because my truck is sitting right in the lane - on the blind side of a steep hill.
Luckily, I am only a half mile from a friend from college. Problem was, I was wearing black pants, a dark green t-shirt and a black jacket - on a totally dark night. I kept praying and hoping that no cars would come by because they would not be able to see me at all.
So I get to my friend's house and ask to use the phone. Now, this is not down in the middle of the night. This is around seven p.m. I call four different tow truck operators. One, "The Letter of the Alphabet That Is After C" & "The Letter of the Alphabet that Is Before S" out of Gallatin, tells me point blank, "Not tonight." The next guy, who shares a name with a certain Regency Hotel and was only a few miles away, after I go through my spiel, tells me that he only tows big trucks to Westmoreland (only to have my mom tell me later, "Isn't that the guy you called last time?" It was.) The third towing service I call says, "Well, it'll take me a few minutes because I've got my hands in this engine but I'll be there." He knows exactly where I am, because he tells me the landmarks in the area before I can do the same. This was a certain "Greasy" who is a rather big name in Westmoreland (such as that is.) An hour and a half later - no tow truck. As far as I know, he never showed up.
Here I go again. I call one more person in Westmoreland. "Beam Me Up" 24 Hour Towing tells me, via his daughter because he is on a cell phone, "Well, I could do it tonight but it will be cheaper if you can wait until tomorrow."
"Well, that's a lot of help because my truck is sitting in the middle of the road right now. I tell you what - I'll see what else I can do." Click.
So, after nearly two and a half hours, my truck is moved out of the road and into an unused driveway with the help of my friend's father. He also gave me a lift home. Let me say right now that I am eternally grateful for the entire family's generosity and I am glad to call them friends. It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that my truck is finally towed.
As for those other guys? I told them what had happened and they didn't seem to care. Thanks for nothing, jerks.
I've had trouble with my truck. It's been overheating. I replaced the thermostat in it last week and thought the problem was solved because I drove it - around Portland, through Gallatin a couple of times - and it ran cooler than it ever has.
Well, this past Saturday, I took my mom yard saling because her car was not drivable at the time. We drove all around Gallatin for hours and all of a sudden, guess what? It starts overheating again. Not just overheats but boils out of the resevoir. We have to stop several times to let it cool down but we eventually make it back to her house.
The trouble comes when I start to go back to my house. I had let my poor truck sit for three or four hours in the driveway to cool down. By now, it is pitch dark and a new moon when it overheats on me again on a little backroad just outside Bethpage, TN. Well, "overheat" doesn't quite describe it: it starts whistling like a tea kettle. I stop where I am to turn it off...only I can't get it started again. I try but I only succeed in running the battery down so I turn on the hazard lights and hope there is enough room for cars to pass because my truck is sitting right in the lane - on the blind side of a steep hill.
Luckily, I am only a half mile from a friend from college. Problem was, I was wearing black pants, a dark green t-shirt and a black jacket - on a totally dark night. I kept praying and hoping that no cars would come by because they would not be able to see me at all.
So I get to my friend's house and ask to use the phone. Now, this is not down in the middle of the night. This is around seven p.m. I call four different tow truck operators. One, "The Letter of the Alphabet That Is After C" & "The Letter of the Alphabet that Is Before S" out of Gallatin, tells me point blank, "Not tonight." The next guy, who shares a name with a certain Regency Hotel and was only a few miles away, after I go through my spiel, tells me that he only tows big trucks to Westmoreland (only to have my mom tell me later, "Isn't that the guy you called last time?" It was.) The third towing service I call says, "Well, it'll take me a few minutes because I've got my hands in this engine but I'll be there." He knows exactly where I am, because he tells me the landmarks in the area before I can do the same. This was a certain "Greasy" who is a rather big name in Westmoreland (such as that is.) An hour and a half later - no tow truck. As far as I know, he never showed up.
Here I go again. I call one more person in Westmoreland. "Beam Me Up" 24 Hour Towing tells me, via his daughter because he is on a cell phone, "Well, I could do it tonight but it will be cheaper if you can wait until tomorrow."
"Well, that's a lot of help because my truck is sitting in the middle of the road right now. I tell you what - I'll see what else I can do." Click.
So, after nearly two and a half hours, my truck is moved out of the road and into an unused driveway with the help of my friend's father. He also gave me a lift home. Let me say right now that I am eternally grateful for the entire family's generosity and I am glad to call them friends. It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that my truck is finally towed.
As for those other guys? I told them what had happened and they didn't seem to care. Thanks for nothing, jerks.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Belated idea#1 - "Lost"
I joined the Illustration Friday list a few weeks ago and have been meaning to post my ideas. This one and the next are just some roughs I did of past prompts to get the juices flowing.
I didn't do such a great job on the letters here, so I used fonts to make them more legible. Click on it to get a better view.
Friday, October 28, 2005
A Special Report
While I was out by the studio today, I startled something in the grass. It got Mishy's attention but neither of us got a look at it.
I wonder how it would be reported, if cats had their own newspaper?
Headline: Something Tasty This Way Comes
Byline: Tabby Volestalker, contributing reporter to the Feline Times
Something tasty is apparently lurking in the woods outside a local barn but as of yet, no feline has been able to get a glimpse of it. Apparently, before today, the only clues that there was something edible in these woods was an occasional rustling sound on the ground, as if the tidbit were looking for food itself. That changed when the first clue as to what the tidbit may be was gathered: a loud but short, piping squeak.
"It sounded somewhat like a mouse," said Mishy, a black and white resident of the property where the possible appetizer was heard. "A large...tasty...absolutely sumptuous mouse...uh, ahem. I never saw it though. It disappeared before I got close to it at all."
"Of course, I didn't believe it at first," said another feline in residence who refused to give his name. "We've all heard stories of the tidbit in the leaves that was more delicious than could be imagined but those are just stories told to kittens. Myths - like the place all cats go where food is everywhere, we can mate all we want and humans are our playthings. Now I just don't know what to think."
Experts who have examined the case so far have determined that the tasty tidbit was definitely not a mouse. "Judging by the amount of noise the tidbit made, according to Ms. Mishy's report, it was quite a bit larger than an ordinary mouse. It could have been a ground squirrel or a chipmunk. Of course, we won't know for sure until we have more evidence."
Keep reading the Feline Times for the latest news on the discovery of this possibly tasty new morsel.
I wonder how it would be reported, if cats had their own newspaper?
Headline: Something Tasty This Way Comes
Byline: Tabby Volestalker, contributing reporter to the Feline Times
Something tasty is apparently lurking in the woods outside a local barn but as of yet, no feline has been able to get a glimpse of it. Apparently, before today, the only clues that there was something edible in these woods was an occasional rustling sound on the ground, as if the tidbit were looking for food itself. That changed when the first clue as to what the tidbit may be was gathered: a loud but short, piping squeak.
"It sounded somewhat like a mouse," said Mishy, a black and white resident of the property where the possible appetizer was heard. "A large...tasty...absolutely sumptuous mouse...uh, ahem. I never saw it though. It disappeared before I got close to it at all." "Of course, I didn't believe it at first," said another feline in residence who refused to give his name. "We've all heard stories of the tidbit in the leaves that was more delicious than could be imagined but those are just stories told to kittens. Myths - like the place all cats go where food is everywhere, we can mate all we want and humans are our playthings. Now I just don't know what to think."
Experts who have examined the case so far have determined that the tasty tidbit was definitely not a mouse. "Judging by the amount of noise the tidbit made, according to Ms. Mishy's report, it was quite a bit larger than an ordinary mouse. It could have been a ground squirrel or a chipmunk. Of course, we won't know for sure until we have more evidence."
Keep reading the Feline Times for the latest news on the discovery of this possibly tasty new morsel.
What is art?
When I was in printmaking class last semester, I had a zinc plate that I had put in ammonia. We used an acrylic ground to protect what we didn't want the acid to touch. Ammonia removed that ground. Well, I forgot about it and the plate stayed in there for three days.
When it was finally discovered, it was very subtly etched (ammonia is also an acid, albeit much weaker than the one we normally used for etching.) When I ran a print of the plate, just to see what it would look like, it reminded me of an old daguerreotype of a rainstorm on an open field. I half jokingly said that it needed to be the silhouette of a cow or two.
The response I got from my instructor was a laugh as well as, "Oh god, no! Don't do that!" For some reason, the very idea of artwork involving something as lowly as a cow seemed to be horrifying.
Perhaps it is a matter of background. I come from a long line of farmers, on both sides of the family. I find myself contemplating ideas to acknowledge that heritage. That heritage includes cows. Horses. Land.
So...just what is art? Who decides? Does it really matter?
Nah. I'm going to do it anyway.
When it was finally discovered, it was very subtly etched (ammonia is also an acid, albeit much weaker than the one we normally used for etching.) When I ran a print of the plate, just to see what it would look like, it reminded me of an old daguerreotype of a rainstorm on an open field. I half jokingly said that it needed to be the silhouette of a cow or two.
The response I got from my instructor was a laugh as well as, "Oh god, no! Don't do that!" For some reason, the very idea of artwork involving something as lowly as a cow seemed to be horrifying.
Perhaps it is a matter of background. I come from a long line of farmers, on both sides of the family. I find myself contemplating ideas to acknowledge that heritage. That heritage includes cows. Horses. Land.
So...just what is art? Who decides? Does it really matter?
Nah. I'm going to do it anyway.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
A Letter to Toby, part II
Dear Toby:
I don't know how you learned to do it but would you please stop using the "intercom" function on the phone to get my attention? I'm getting your food out as quickly as I can and the constant "beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep" is driving me insane.
Thank you.
Azra
I don't know how you learned to do it but would you please stop using the "intercom" function on the phone to get my attention? I'm getting your food out as quickly as I can and the constant "beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep" is driving me insane.
Thank you.
Azra
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Now we know...
Channel 5 ran a story tonight about the months October through December being the prime time for white tail deer to breed here in Tennessee. In the story, they warned drivers should be more careful in watching for the deer on the roads because the season makes them, as Mark Bellinger put it, "a little wacky."
Now, how can such crack reporting not put a person as ease?
Now, how can such crack reporting not put a person as ease?
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
New...
Tonight, a new altar was set up in the barn/studio. Because I like to keep some things to myself, I won't say the names of the gods. Although...if you want some fun and/or homework, it won't be hard to figure out who they are. Here's a picture I took of it a few days ago (eee - the flowers don't look so great in the photo. They're marigolds, to honor the ancestral dead in the coming Samhain, not to mention that both deities have their Underworld aspects. Fitting, considering the studio literally sits on the edge of an old cemetery.)
I didn't use salt or incense in the ritual as the usual symbols of earth and air. For earth, I physically touched the altar with my hand and I blew on it for air. I held a red candle (red for creativity, passion) beneath it for Fire and daubed water on it that I saved from hurricane Katrina.
Here are the words I used:
By the earth that is my flesh, I cleanse and bless you.
By the earth that is my flesh, I consecrate you in the name of _________.
By the air that is my breath, I cleanse and bless you.
By the air that is my breath, I consecrate you in the name of _________.
By fire, I cleanse and bless you.
By fire, I consecrate you in the name of _________.
By water, I cleanse and bless you.
By water, I consecrate you in the name of _________.
By earth, air, fire and water, I call you consecrated in the name of _________.
So mote it be.
I could tell right away that it "took." The very air felt different. Peaceful, yet filled with as the Sioux used to say, "big medicine." I was in the presence of something much greater than me.
Ach, I know this entry is rather dry and documentary. I'm sorry. The whole thing is still rather fresh and I don't have the words to adequately describe the experience yet - if ever.
Goodnight y'all.
A letter to Toby
Dear Toby:
You've been here, on this Earth, for a year and a half. I think you know by now that I love you. I know you are growing up and you want to be the Big Man About the House. I also know you are going to do things I do not approve of - like fighting.
But Toby, if you're going to get into fights, at least let the other cat get within paw distance before you start screaming like you're dying a horrible death. It's a little embarrassing to come to your rescue, only to see The Murderer standing at least two feet away from you.
You need to learn to stand up for yourself. Fight back. At the very least, try to get within punching distance. After all, it's hard to be the Big Man when the other cats are laughing at you.
Azra
You've been here, on this Earth, for a year and a half. I think you know by now that I love you. I know you are growing up and you want to be the Big Man About the House. I also know you are going to do things I do not approve of - like fighting.
But Toby, if you're going to get into fights, at least let the other cat get within paw distance before you start screaming like you're dying a horrible death. It's a little embarrassing to come to your rescue, only to see The Murderer standing at least two feet away from you.
You need to learn to stand up for yourself. Fight back. At the very least, try to get within punching distance. After all, it's hard to be the Big Man when the other cats are laughing at you.
Azra
Friday, October 14, 2005
Still waitin' for that tractor...
Today, I realized the real reason why I had been in such a funk this week. It was the two year anniversary of my grandmother's death. She died on October 9, 2003 and was buried on the 11th.
Why, you ask, did it take so long for me to realize this? Good question. It's taken me all this time to process the whole mess of our relationship. The mess of her funeral is a whole other topic in itself.
I know the woman loved me, in her own way. She did help me out when I really needed it. She and my grandfather paid my college tuition all those years ago. She and my grandfather were also two of the few who stood up for me when the Heir Apparent to Hell (otherwise known as the second woman my dad married) went around the bend and well, she thought she could pick a fight with a thirteen year old kid and beat her domain out of me. My dad stood by the Heir Apparent.
My grandmother was also waiting for me at the front door when I got home from the hospital the night before she died. She had been in a coma for two days - I think she simply willed herself out and her body didn't catch on to the idea until the next morning. My mother and I could feel her presence for about two weeks afterward (in fact, she almost drove my mother to insanity. She said my grandmother was a constant presence, 24 hours a day, until my mother cleared up a bit of unfinished business between them.)
Still, in all the years I was around her, I always felt as if I was kept at arm's length, like an infrequent acquaintance. I always felt that it was because I refused to kowtow to her. She wanted everyone to think that she was the Matriarch of a wonderful family who thought everything revolved around her. All I wanted was a grandmother.
To be fair, I don't think my grandmother knew exactly how to relate to me. I wasn't interested in "high society," such as it was in that small town. I didn't much care what other folks thought of me either, as long as I treated them fairly and vice versa. In other words, I didn't put up a front.
She also always wanted me to be interested in talking about dishes, quilting and other "woman's stuff" but I was more interested in what was going on outside the house. Was Trixie's hooves still spreading all over the farm or had she gotten proper shoes? What kind of fish was the pond stocked with now? Was help needed with the hay?
I guess you can say our entire relationship could be summed up in a single conversation we had a year or two before she died. I had been out in the fields all morning, helping my dad bale the hay and we had come in for lunch. We were all sitting at the kitchen table when she told me in a great, expansive voice, "Some day when I'm gone, you will get all my dishes." The only thing I knew to say was, "But I'll still get the tractor, right?"
Why, you ask, did it take so long for me to realize this? Good question. It's taken me all this time to process the whole mess of our relationship. The mess of her funeral is a whole other topic in itself.
I know the woman loved me, in her own way. She did help me out when I really needed it. She and my grandfather paid my college tuition all those years ago. She and my grandfather were also two of the few who stood up for me when the Heir Apparent to Hell (otherwise known as the second woman my dad married) went around the bend and well, she thought she could pick a fight with a thirteen year old kid and beat her domain out of me. My dad stood by the Heir Apparent.
My grandmother was also waiting for me at the front door when I got home from the hospital the night before she died. She had been in a coma for two days - I think she simply willed herself out and her body didn't catch on to the idea until the next morning. My mother and I could feel her presence for about two weeks afterward (in fact, she almost drove my mother to insanity. She said my grandmother was a constant presence, 24 hours a day, until my mother cleared up a bit of unfinished business between them.)
Still, in all the years I was around her, I always felt as if I was kept at arm's length, like an infrequent acquaintance. I always felt that it was because I refused to kowtow to her. She wanted everyone to think that she was the Matriarch of a wonderful family who thought everything revolved around her. All I wanted was a grandmother.
To be fair, I don't think my grandmother knew exactly how to relate to me. I wasn't interested in "high society," such as it was in that small town. I didn't much care what other folks thought of me either, as long as I treated them fairly and vice versa. In other words, I didn't put up a front.
She also always wanted me to be interested in talking about dishes, quilting and other "woman's stuff" but I was more interested in what was going on outside the house. Was Trixie's hooves still spreading all over the farm or had she gotten proper shoes? What kind of fish was the pond stocked with now? Was help needed with the hay?
I guess you can say our entire relationship could be summed up in a single conversation we had a year or two before she died. I had been out in the fields all morning, helping my dad bale the hay and we had come in for lunch. We were all sitting at the kitchen table when she told me in a great, expansive voice, "Some day when I'm gone, you will get all my dishes." The only thing I knew to say was, "But I'll still get the tractor, right?"
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
To quote Dr. Sam Beckett...
Ooooohhhhhh boy.
(Heh. Shall we play "Who is that?")
Along with all the funkiness over these last few days, there has been something else going on that has me a bit...upskittled, as they used to say here in the South.
Last week, I started getting these...thoughts...for lack of a better word, that I needed a key. Not just any key but an old fashioned skeleton key. Why I needed this key, I had no idea but I needed it. It wasn't an urgent thing, just a little voice every now and then saying, "You need this key."
Well...okay.
I didn't think anything about it until the latest post from Jeffery (www.oldways.com) came over the Wildways list. It was called "Seeking Direction and Turning Keys." The kicker was Saturday, when we went to Bright's and I found a bunch of old keys - most of which were skeleton keys of various sizes. This was a new addition to this particular booth and I had never seen any other old keys in the entire place before. I looked through them and found a small one that 'felt' perfect. It was only a dollar.
It was when I paid for that key and had it in my hand that I felt something I hadn't happened in a long time. Tingles went up my back and I felt almost lightheaded. Evidently this key represents something big. Something magickal.
I just wish I knew what. Until I do, I guess I'll just carry it in my pocket.
(Heh. Shall we play "Who is that?")
Along with all the funkiness over these last few days, there has been something else going on that has me a bit...upskittled, as they used to say here in the South.
Last week, I started getting these...thoughts...for lack of a better word, that I needed a key. Not just any key but an old fashioned skeleton key. Why I needed this key, I had no idea but I needed it. It wasn't an urgent thing, just a little voice every now and then saying, "You need this key."
Well...okay.
I didn't think anything about it until the latest post from Jeffery (www.oldways.com) came over the Wildways list. It was called "Seeking Direction and Turning Keys." The kicker was Saturday, when we went to Bright's and I found a bunch of old keys - most of which were skeleton keys of various sizes. This was a new addition to this particular booth and I had never seen any other old keys in the entire place before. I looked through them and found a small one that 'felt' perfect. It was only a dollar.
It was when I paid for that key and had it in my hand that I felt something I hadn't happened in a long time. Tingles went up my back and I felt almost lightheaded. Evidently this key represents something big. Something magickal.
I just wish I knew what. Until I do, I guess I'll just carry it in my pocket.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)