Thursday, April 24, 2014

Chip Off the Old Artist's Block, The Artichoke, and TAW

Living East of the Mississippi has been a game changer.   Had I landed in a certain hippie mountain town as I had intended to, instead in the buckle of the bible belt, I might have not noticed how far I had wondered from my own lush path of happiness.

I found myself right where I wanted to be, all but a days drive from all the wee relatives, yet I was the furthest from myself yet.  This was good.  It forced me to notice that I had wandered off my own happy path long ago.  I had wandered down the get-payed-to-play path, and gotten lost in a tangle of benefits-and-reliability briers.  Where did my adventurous path fall off?  Why was I getting paid to simply be a drudge.  

"No more!" I shouted to the night sky. Something had to give... and it did. 


My soul sister, Artichoke Woman, found me, and brought a puzzle with her.  The puzzle was her self. Artichoke Woman found her creative self, tucked inside The Artist's Way, but she never could manage pull that stubborn sucker all the way out.  She was unable to level up, or as she would say: peel back enough layers. She asked me if I wanted to give it a shot.  I said heck yes! So there we sat on the floor of our souls, with our little rubix cubed artist's hearts trying to sort it all out.  How did that piece get all the way over there, and how will I get it back? Hey, you over there? How are you doing? Wouldn't it be cool to make this into a party and invite our closest friends? And thus our little guild of light was born.

Some tasks, though meant to be completed alone, are in fact far easier to complete, when one has a team of rambunctious and joy-filled friends rafting down the same river, laughing in the face of the scariest rapids, and cheering as one paddles through. 
Some hurdles are not meant to be jumped over, but meant to be set on fire, because I have marshmallows, and we might as well make S'mores.


I celebrate my life by slowly waking from my artistic stupor in the most enjoyable of ways.  The last 6 months have felt like a wonderful long good morning stretch. The sort of stretch I make when I wake up with the sun shining down on me, and with the knowledge that I have all day to enjoy my life, preferably with a pot of slow brewed French Press coffee on the side. I have been writing and doodling like there is no tomorrow, practicing hodge-podge methods of print making, sending letters to people I love, and going on small adventures in the aforementioned mountain town. I now travel with these wonderful women friends, through pages, personal computers, phone lines and places.

This is TAW. This is an adventure. 
This is my River!

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Grandfather's Port Authority

By the shores of Gitche Gumee,
By the shining Big-Sea-Water,
Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,
Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.
Dark behind it rose the forest,
Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,
Rose the firs with cones upon them;
Bright before it beat the water,
Beat the clear and sunny water,
Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Most Interesting Man In The World 
Last Mother's Day, my wonderful, kind, and subtly hilarious Grandfather launched his canoe off the shore of the Great Gitche Gumee, in search of his love, Jeannie Baby. 


My Grandfather believed in the best of people. He believed I was doing great and glorious things with my life. If I ever am down and need to rally, I still think of him. 
I will complete this task! 
I will do these things! 
I will honor my Grandfather, and my family!
I will dance with abandon and bring joy everywhere I travel!
It is difficult for me to not not shoot off an email in order to tell him of my feats or failures, or just simply share an image of a raven ka-cawing on a cliff side, or a flower blooming next to a bubbling cascade.


My Grandparents have been a powerful influence in my life.  Though I loved living out West, I knew that I needed to move closer to them, as they grew older.  There were far fewer openings in my field, to the East of the Mississippi, so it took a while for my transfer to go through. While I waited, Jeannie Baby, my sweet Nana, grew ill. I was snow bound, and unable to reach the one I knew as The Source of Unconditional Love, before she slipped away in the night. Until the week of his death, Gaga was unable to finish reading lyrics to her favorite song, Autumn Leaves.
But I'l miss you most of all, my Darling when autumn leaves, start to fall.
He wanted to be with her, but decided the world was too interesting for him to exit just yet: He had work to do!

My transfer went through in time for me to spend lots of time with Gaga. I am glad of this. We visited each other often. Because of him, my world started to include my family on many more levels. When he was on his way out, at almost age 98, he told us it was cigarettes that were cutting his life so short. It was indeed his lungs which gave out before his heart. When my brothers vowed to give up smoking, he delightedly told me that he was using his "secret death powers" to fix everything before he left. Gaga claimed to be a trickster.  He used his enigmatic mix of wit, charm and love, to form a deep cohesion within my family. My brothers are now my best friends, and my parents are each others. 


A bottle of his port still sits in my cupboard, half full. Why yes, I am an optimist!   I... miss him.  Last November, in a burst of sentimentality, I pulled out the bottle, with the intent to finish it, and say goodbye. The flavor had gone off, and I was crushed. Though I realized I was supposed to toss the liquid before it fermented further, I choose not too.  I drank one last slightly vinegary glass with his ghost, as I listened to a couple piano heavy songs (on repeat) and powered through week one of The Artist's Way. I had a productive night, getting back in touch with my creativity and lady like emotions.
"I hope you have your Jeannie Baby in that Canoe of yours, you rapscallion!"
 I then gently placed the bottle back into the cupboard which was clearly its home. 


I like to think that he still visits, and he knows how welcome he is, when he sees his bottle still waiting for him.  I assume the bottle of port, like my Grandfather, enjoys watching over the other, younger bottles of liquor, and occasionally dispensing wisdom, or teaching them limericks. My liquor cabinet is not just entertaining, it is entertained. 

So there my Grandfather's Port sits, making me smile,and sometimes cry, when I open my cupboard. 

Sunday, April 20, 2014

All Of a Sudden I was In Love With The World

Once upon a time it was dark and lonely, then I woke up.
Once upon a time I woke up and I was in love in love with myself.

I could have any job I wanted, and I did.
    I was a professional bad ass.  
I could conquer all of my fears, and I did.
    Searching a burning building blinded is far less scary than a being married to the wrong guy.
I could have any guy I wanted, and I did.
    Sheer confidence is the hottest thing I have ever worn.

Once upon a time I fell in love with a moonpie adventurer.
He was hot as hell, and looked just like me.
This went along well with my recent crush on myself,
Though it weirded out some of my friends.
"Dude! You look related!"
Um, no. He looks like a sexy dude version of me.
Totally different.
Totally hot.
We flew to the moon and back through each others eyes,
Until one day he looked at me funny, and ended it.

So there was only one thing I could do.
I woke up the next day, ready for the next challenge.
Hello world! I am here for adventure!
Bring it! 
Oh hey, Look at you, long haired hippie HVAC repair man,
walking all sexy into the post office.
I had not previously noticed your extreme levels of hotness.
Tag!
You are It!

But every time I set my eyes on something new,
There my goodbye lover was,
Making sad moon eyes at me.
Because once upon a time, the moonpie wouldn't let me go.

What in the hail is your problem?
Why are you looking at me like that?
Why are your arms wrapped around mine,
As I listen to Willie Nelson sing about love
And simper over a sauce in my bachelorette kitchen?
And
Why do you keep showing up here, giving me that look?
"Because I am in love with you."
And you broke up with me.

Once upon a time the moonpie answered.
Then the earth fell out from under my feet,
Not from launching my dreams,
but having my dream, the one I was living in, snatched  away.
I believed I was strong.
I knew I could have anything I wanted.
I knew I could do anything and everything I set my heart on.
No one could stop me!

Once upon a time the moonpie looked down at his feet as he told me
"Your butt is too big."
My what is what?
"Your butt is too big. Especially in proportion to your boobs."
I...
My...?
And then he kissed me, and told me maybe he could live with it.
He loved me, not my ass.
Why why why why why baby 
If its so evil then?*

Damn it took forever to get rid of that moonpie.

For the record, I love my butt.  
It takes me everywhere I want to go.

My Favorite Mode Of Travel is By The Seat Of My Pants. ~LJ Schorr


*This post was written while listening to various versions of Jesus Built My Hotrod. 






Saturday, April 19, 2014

Sausage Dog Steamroller

(from my morning journal entry)

Good morning/afternoon!

Brat tried to steamroller me me, and then Schnitzel tried to steamroller Brat! What is going on? Don't they know they are wiener dogs?

May today Be Awesome!

Brat usually steamrollers rugs or blankets, not people. 

Thursday, January 2, 2014

Just You and Me Punk Rock Girl

And My New Year's Resolution is...the same as it was at age 17.


Well, I don't really need to be a bass player, unless in a Dead Milkmen cover band where an attention span is less of a requirement.  I do need to find a way to live the dream.  My Dream.  My stupid, risky "you will loose it all, and it is not really a good idea anyways because other people are already doing it, and there are already too many coffee shops in Asheville though none of them offer to add booze into your beverage so you have that in your favor" dream.  Also on deck: Write an article for publication, comparing both major Punk Rock festivals in the US (Punk Rock Bowling in Las Vegas vs Riot Fest in Chicago.)  I am not sure where this might be published, or how to even sell my written word, but I have a whole lot of something to say about both of my 2013 experiences   Lastly, it is time to get out behind the microphone in dispatch, and behind a microphone in a radio station.  
Bring it, 2014!  
Bring it.

Wednesday, January 1, 2014

2014 is The Year of The Artist & Hijinks

I am an artist.  
I am a writer.  
I am pretty hilarious when unfiltered.
Put my personality through a sieve, and something wonky will still get through.
Hold onto your britches, because this year, I am writing for myself; 100% quirky; me. 
Shenanigans are to be expected.
Hijinks are already underway.
The filter has been downgraded.
By that, I mean disintegrated.
Mostly via coffee and laughter, shared with long distance lady friends at all hours of the day.
It is never too late for a morning cup of coffee.
And, damn, I have wonderful lady friends!
Perfectly ratioed in the Classy : Tacky,  Beneficent : Absurd, and Frightened : Brave departments
My wild women are irreplaceable.

I am an artist.
I am a writer.
I am ridiculous.
Don't like it? 
Go poop in a shoe.
Preferably not my shoe.
Or anyone else's for that matter.  
If you are a in a bad mood, please poop in your own shoe,
Or perhaps trade in your uncomfortable footwear and see if that helps.




Thursday, September 1, 2011

For My Sorority Sisters

This post goes out to my Sorority sisters. No,no, not a real sorority. I am talking about an imaginary sorority, where you still get to sing and dance, and even pull pranks on your sisters, but have to have sex with the same guy every night because you are old and married. Also, you do not need to memorize the Greek alphabet, but instead, get to sing David Allen Coe and Mica lyrics at a high volume in front of frightened elderly couples and children. We are onto something here! I am pretty sure you get to laugh a lot more in our imaginary sorority, but I could be wrong. My research is limited, since I majored in protesting in college, which included protesting the Rush week. I am glad I did so, because they were complete dicks to my orphaned, yet devoutly religious and Republican friend Tiffany. Did I mention that she was an orphan? Within years of her rejection, she became a Lesbian. Parents, watch out, the Greek/sorority system made her gay.

Speaking of homosexuality, I was also not a cheerleader in high school, though people are constantly assuming so, due to my cheerful-as-fuck attitude. I was a cheerleader of sorts, but only for my fellow students dealing with depression, coming out, getting sober, or questioning authority. I didn't really have a uniform, unless frizzy hair and eyeliner counts, and was neither sanctioned by the administration, nor recognized in the yearbook. I am pretty bitter about the whole experience.

I assume that this new imaginary sorority will fill the gap left by a lack of appropriate social interactions, but am hoping not. I am expecting anything but appropriate from my new Sistahs. Welcome to the Ridiculous, Ladies!