Identifying My Native Land and My Tootie Pie

I saw the paintings, and they called to me. Once, I was passing right by it, and from the corner of my eye, I knew. It was Tootie Pie. It is a masterpiece.

I bought it! But, of course. It captures HER, in all her glory! Kiliko, her classmate, is the artist.

Then, again, although earlier, I spotted what I knew was New England. The painting, below, is of Schoodic, Maine.  

I have not been to Schoodic (is there a more Maine sounding name?), but something about the coloration of the rocks and the light told me, this is home. I was born outside of Boston, and call Rhode Island home. The artist is Marsden Hartley.

I have always been envious of visual artists. I used to use the program guides from the Ice Capades to draw Dorothy Hamill, and the result could be posted on badfanart.com. Once, somehow, I was able to capture the likeness of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but this was accidental. Both of these works are (fortunately) lost to time. The ability of these artists to portray such specificity is amazing. 

It was certainly the pink sequins that
inspired me to imitate, but crayons and
magic markers fail to convey their sheen.
Plus, her arms looked mutant on my
version. I did her dirty.

Rhode Island

Hey, fun-loving New Englanders. Here's a ride that you
alone power. None of that new-fangled electricity here, nosiree.
Work up a sweat to try to get this giant metal cage
ALL THE WAY AROUND! Maybe even induce
a heart attack, if you're lucky.

Candy colored Lincoln Park. I have no photos, but the pictures live strong in my mind of the glorious tack that was a 1970s family style New England amusement park. Mom would pack a lunch that I would dance through with anticipation in the parking lot. I was tall enough that my father took me on the Comet coaster and it's not an experience I'll soon forget: if not for my father's karate chop to my waist on that first hill, I was falling forward onto the tracks. Clack, clack, clack! Good times. My sister would invariably get sick on fried clams. Many rides I wouldn't consider tackling because I was certain my parents wouldn't go for it, but those cages that could, in theory, swing 360 degrees sure looked dangerous. I always felt bad for the people in the Monster ride ("Monster Ride") who would emerge on the second floor. The humans pinned against the circle ("The Round Up") had nope written all over it.

CHiPs for the tykes

Basically the same ride, but
not motorcycles, storks

Who could focus on sandwiches

when all this awaited?

I couldn't understand my mother's
aversion to this. I think I know
now. Back problems, anyone?

But what I did ride I'll always remember. Storks, motorcycles, boats, cars with horns and steering wheels that did nothing, some sort of garish barrel, rocket ships, cars, and the flimsiest ferris wheel this side of a carnie. I got into one of those bucket seated multi-armed deals ("The Scrambler") with my little sisters and misjudged the centipedal force to crush my baby sis. No one cared about safety or intestinal health back then. No padding on "The Whip". Very few seatbelts - just a bar to grip. No one seemed to have planned anything besides my mother's lunch: we'd see families strapped with massive plushies that would take the entire backseat on the ride home. Ugly, cheap, HUGE eyesores that they already regretted winning for $100 in today's equivalent. 

 

Burlap in use

I know this reveals my age, but times were different. By today's standard, I'm amazed that Lincoln Park didn't have a class action lawsuit daily. Nothing preventing the kiddos from bailing out of the boat ride into the brown water. Most rides just encouraged you to hold on as their risk-avoidance mechanism. We "rode" the big slide by climbing stairs and, get this, using half of a burlap bag as protection from the searing heat and friction burns. It is a wonder as many of us survived to adulthood, truth be told. Far scarier than "The Monster" ride, was a total lack of safety. But, it was fun.

You couldn't say you weren't
warned

Clinging to life

That "safety belt" I'm
quite sure does NOTHING

This is incredibly girly, but many of those arcade games had dolls made out of nylon stockings and outfitted like Mae West in a riot of pastels and pouf. I'd dream of these visions of femininity all night as I could still feel my body sliding down "the big slide". 

Yes, this is what a 9-year old girl dreams of in 1977.
She was the epitome of femininity in my eyes.

Nostalgia is a powerful thing. I have lost touch with that young, wild girl who was brimming with excitement. The world seemed so magical. It was magical.

clams!

Clams, 

clams,

You certainly had options to eat
a few clams

Cigs were encouraged. Leisure
suit optional.

My father drove me out of Rhode Island in an Oldmobile Cutlass Supreme in 1979. I just drove my own self out of Rhode Island and I couldn't believe I'd do the same horrible thing to myself. It is magic. Every corner has the cutest pre-Revolutionary homes with their diamond lead glass windows. I found the homes in Providence I remember thinking even back then, special. I visited Federal Hill finally and felt the presence of Guy Alba cutting hair until close to 100 years old. I grew up in a magical place and it's still breath-taking. Rhode Island gives you a sense of discovery. Maybe it's because I didn't actually have an itinerary and my co-pilot was Tootie Pie, but I am counting the days until Rhode Island is mine again.

Full, Fuller, Fuller

 

The fish population growth

I feel confident I will get the chandelier up. I vacillate between this optimism, unfounded, and the pits of depression about it. On the plus side, I have 26 of the 42 strands, or 104 of the 168 fish, completed now and thankfully it's starting to look like a collection of fish and not a sad middle school dance with infusible clumps of friends. I am hoping we may get fish shadows once installed. So, a mere 16 strands to go, or just 64 more fish to create! Piece of cake.

As for my mood, I may have inadvertently gone off my meds again. It is too easy in this day and age to fall off the depression radar and not get your pills. Far too simple. And, the best part is, you may or may not be aware of this fact, because of plans not covering certain prescriptions or quantities or other arcane reasons to prevent me from my meds, and using substitute, off-brand names that you're not at all familiar with. Am I taking an old prescription, and my current one is not covered? Well, that's for my depressed ass to get on top of for the umpteenth time. Chasing down meds is a full-time job.

Speaking of full-time jobs, I need one. Another indignity besides the medical system is the job search. Impersonal, sure, it's business, but there should be the beginnings of a relationship and it isn't there any more. We're in a race to the bottom and it scares me. 

Happy fish! Just keep swimming.

Half Complete Fish Shoal and Dining Room Disaster

My fish shoal is 1/3 complete. I made 16 strands of four, out of a total of 42. This creates low fullness on the 6 inch diameter ring I am staging the fish strands on. I am doing this diligently to avoid hanging the chandelier. I have cleaned it. I have the bulbs. I need to ask for help, and I have no problem asking. The problem is no one wants to lend a hand. 

Sixteen strands of 4 fish. Looks sparse
and still tangles.

It's okay. I have been known to weed my friends' driveways and sweep up confetti and other thankless jobs because later, my friends would hold the ladder as I get another plastic bag out of my tree or loosen that screw I can't budge. Whatever. I'll do it alone. It is cemented to the ceiling. Fine. I am trying to remove it and I want to cry, and this will make it that much more glorious when I finally achieve it, I must say so to myself to keep from doing myself in. 

It still tangles. The fish are disappointingly tiny. They hardly sparkle. Many fish are non-symmetrical and will always seem to be swimming in circles. I am not in a great mood.

The old fixture is down - cue religious music. It required the use of a spatula. The new chandelier is HEAVY and I need help putting it up. There it is. That is why it stayed on my floor and became covered in dust. The dream of a new chandelier. I have not been getting what I want lately. I think it's part of the aging process. People flock to you when you're young and beautiful. Become a bit janky around the edges and suddenly, you lose all appeal. It is men and their frustrating lack of ability to see women as people. They did it then and they're doing it now. What can I do but persevere?

I am past the halfway point: 25 strands out of 42 total. They're so small. I liked the overlap that the inspiration fixture had and the basis in art also had. Here they are for reference:

In comparison, my fish are sparse and overfished to the point of colony collapse. I still have the flowers to fall back on. Oh, maybe the layering of the fixture will give the illusion of fullness. I am noticing how narrow the inspiration fixture is compared to mine and the fish in the inspo are about a third of the width. My fish are minnows and not worth catching!

Triumph and Pain in New England

It was a beautiful weekend full of nostalgia. I didn't get to spend the day with my mother, but the next best thing is the charming Auntie Bernie and I got a double helping of her! Too many people Bernie and I loved have passed and she witnessed my beloved Gramps go. I had the honor of witnessing my mother bear untold misery with joy and with her philosophical outlook not ceding an inch. I have had a miraculous life, thanks to her, and I need to commemorate her after an eventful Mother's Day.

She skated. I don't know her record, and I don't know who to ask, but I do know that she attended regional sectionals in the old ice rink in Flushing Meadows Park. She and her mother drove down from Boston and I can just picture the two of them on the Parkway missing the exit over and over again. After all that effort, she did not compete in the national competition that year because it was held in California. She also qualified in pairs and quads, which needs to make a comeback. My passion for ice skating is from her.

My mother was once young.
Her family built their world
around her skating. This costume
was made by my Nana. My mom
looked good in clothes!

I need to start further back, with her parents, my grandparents. Nana designed and executed Mom's costumes and possibly her partners', too. I'm sure it wasn't "fun" in the way that my creations are never actually fun, but getting this photo was a family affair. I wish I knew more about her programs and her music. The stories she told involved mishaps and her trademark anxiety. I am certain that she was a vision. What a pity that my Gramps never had the experience of moving images. He'd be out with his drones, I'm certain, if he was still here. Did he print the signs for the competitions? Programs? One thing is for sure, he did take still pictures! Thank you, Gramps, for saving what you could.

One of my mother's dying wishes was to have my father get together with his family "on the water". Last year, I tried to make that happen, and got three out of the four in one room on the Coonamessett River. I was a bit disappointed but I tried my best. And then it happened. My magical Uncle Pat made a phone call and the last sibling showed! And then the mom magic began.

I've been saying since Mom died that she is powerful as a spirit and she has rightly chosen me as her vessel. I became her. It was wonderful! I was possessed by a very, *very* friendly spirit. She has been gradually leading me to a total takeover and it was as gentle as her love. Just for a moment and a quick photo, and then she was content to watch again but WATCHING SHE WAS. 

Everyone could have been someone else except for X. My X was when my family uprooted to the Midwest, and I don't know the woman who I would have been if I stayed. I am looking for clues. Who would I have been and would I choose her? I feel unfaithful. I would choose her, no questions asked. But, what about Tootie Pie? No, right? I'd still like to get to know this fascinating woman.

I remember not caring about my mother's stories, so I understand that Tootie Pie really doesn't care about the tuna fish sandwich that I threw. But I care now about Mom's tales, and I pretended to care at the time. Not with follow-up questions, mind you, but with an emotion that whole generations are not familiar with: politely listening and nodding, all the while composing your grocery list or otherwise occupying your brain with everything except with whatever your conversational partner feels like going on about. I think we should name this. Let this percolate. In any case, kids today don't indulge their parents, and I think it's to their detriment.

My quest will never end. My BFF from kindergarten, whom I met with now three times, remembered a field trip that was taking up space in my brain but was formally inaccessible. These type of things are gold! Another boy friend reminded me of the reason we were on the lawn that day when I was so deep - planting a tree in memorial of the wonderful Mr. Short. I changed his death into retirement when I left and it took an old friend to remind me - Mr. Short died. I got to relive the pain again, because in my mind, he didn't die, and that didn't make sense. A lot of my childhood didn't make sense.

I used to go to Mom for answers, and I don't have her any more. So, somehow, that makes me want the answers even more. I will return to Greenville and it will slowly reveal itself to me. That's what makes life grand.

Am I Self-Made? Not Society-Failed, At Least

Things went wrong in my childhood, naturally. I once was sent to the principal's office for successfully scaling a drainpipe to the 2nd floor. I carved "I hate Mom" into the softened wood of our window sashes when I was deprived of some long ago forgotten luxury. She absolutely could not deal with my grass stained knees. Normal stuff. So I was woefully unprepared for when, at 10, the wheels came off the bus and I moved from my idyllic New England town to Cleveland. Poor Cleveland is finally failing on its own merits instead of its poor comparison to Rhode Island. Puberty timed its entrance perfectly, making this life's earthquake all the more difficult, but as much as I was up against, I had a secret weapon: my three ladies. My sisters seemed like my world, because we were on a different level than Mom, but I'm the oldest, and Mom and I had a special friendship that was kind of unhealthy, I am realizing now. We built up a boogey man for our problems, and he had a face and name: Dad. Despite the fact that she was brutally ripped from her home and family, she faced the Midwest with her typical spirit of total dominance, done with a beautiful smile. 

I had my struggles with her, of course. Most notably, London. Oh, my, how we argued over that! I broached the topic one night of maybe trying out London for a summer because my roommate was, not because I actually wanted it. I paid for school on my own and was practical, and so it wasn't really an option, until my parents went code level orange because I floated an idea. Then my mind was made up and I was going to London whether I felt like it or not. Three months later, when I told my parents that we needed to talk, she said, "You're not going to London." I can be dominating, too, Mom, so it was too late. The tickets were bought, passport obtained, and it wasn't as if they could threaten to cut me off. Quite the chess move on my part! I was going to be self-made and visit abroad! And, so, I did.

So, I did do it solo financially the minute I was an adult, but whose idea was this? As long as I remember, I was going to college. Then I realized there was no money for it, but that was okay, because I'd been working hard at school which came easily to me, so I got grants and scholarships. A complete success story and I did it alone. I went back to London, then Paris. I got a frantic phone call one night from her because there was a problem with the lines and she made me pick a date to return and so I did: Thanksgiving. I wish I could have lived out my little adventure on my own time instead of artificially truncating it, but I was breaking Mom's heart.

So I returned to fucking Grand Rapids, Michigan, to live near Mom and Dad. It was a memorable year! Dad insisted on going to swim with me and always wanted to race. Mom did her pristine breast stroke so as to preserve the 'do. I introduced her to my date and she said, "Nice to meet you, Kurt". We left and he said, "That's weird! Your mom called me by my brother's name!". I had no idea what my date's first name was and had to look him up in the phone book. It turns out, he was unlisted, but not his brother! In any case, I had a true friendship with both of my parents, I guess you could say. Although, if you do say that, I'll have you know that Dad was a friend of my real friend. I hated that they were a package deal.

Picnic at one of Mom's secret beaches
and a custom summer dress for Lucy.

It is not fair that my friend is gone. I was planning on at least 10 more years. But, I have to look at the bright side which is that I had her for 53 years. And as for self-made, there is no such thing. Everyone once needed help. But there is such a thing as society-failed and it is only the luck of the draw that makes us one or the other. Many of my students were facing puberty without a solid parental figure helping. It is of course usually the female that helps these "self-made" individuals. I am fortunate. I had the best.

I just celebrated my daughter's 17th birthday at a wonderful Peruvian restaurant. Reminder: I have a minimum wage part-time job. She has a pretty awful parent, but I like to think that I am the parent she chooses to align with. I know that 95% of the rationale for that is our shared female connection. She is as independent as it is possible to be at that age but still in that weird area where she relies on us for cash and rides and food and - basically we're staff. Then we're vacation rentals and ATMs, I get it. I want to make college easier than it was for me, at least financially. She did the real work, though, which is getting her education and taking it seriously. 

I may be the only generation who got to sort of envision a future that actually panned out. Mom thought 4 years of college was impractical, because lengthening college shortened the amount of time she'd need to work, which would just be until she became a mother. Until me. But, ten short years later, she was back in the work force and I had to "prepare" dinner twice a week. She could have been the leader of the universe, but she constrained herself using the information she had available at the time. I lived the dream for a moment: I had a career in a male-dominated industry and I made a killing. I made a nest egg and now I can enjoy it. I did it, Mom! I wish you were here to celebrate your success. I wish, I wish, I wish...

Latch Hook a Custom Rug

Rugs these days are pretty cheap, and I use both meanings of cheap. I found a beautiful looped pile ocean themed rug in yuppie central's garbage night, but upon unrolling at home, it was pulled by cat claws and, well... more cat activity occurred sadly. If I'm being honest, though, an underwater theme is great for my hall, but maybe a bit too predictable for this Ocean Stater. I need something quirkier and less practical than sparkly corals. I needed custom.

Top, left most orange flower looks
like Chicken Little in profile

It all seemed so easy in the planning phases. As ever, there were fits and starts and do-overs. I believe that my yarn issues goes back to my original mock-up image which, in retrospect, had white space columns along both long edges. In the end, I have 5 Hobbii white skeins and one complete chartreuse left over after the yarn reordering. Since I knew my lengths were short for the kelly and chartreuse, it was inevitable that I'd be buying more yarn. Now I can use my loom with the leftovers. Yes, I have a loom, and it is Barbie sized and made of plastic. It came with the mechanized loom inventor's bust, who years ago adorned my 6th grade moon landing rocket ship and never found his way home to the Industrial Revolution. He hung out inside the Apollo behind the circular window that was somehow convex and gave the impression that he was more than just shoulders and head. Also, and this was appropriate for my population, he was brown. Not in actual life, but the bust is brown and he looks like a person of color instead of a pasty Englishman. He is hanging out with a plush foiled astronaut and, this was 6th grade we're talking about, Sponge Bob. Those were good days. I feel my academy owes its 3-year Spirit Week domination to my creations. My favorites were the cities of New Orleans and Dubrovnik. The moon landing was the culmination of the 60s and I loved my decade because A) I am from this decade and B) Sesame Street! I know there were many huge milestones in the 60s, but from my standpoint, ain't no bigger cultural sensation than the Muppets!

Even Tootie Pie is impressed! I hemmed it, painstakingly, and will wait to trim it until it needs its first refresh and I'm prepared for it to shed all over again. It is still white!

Post mortem: costs

• Original purchase of $151.85 on wool, backing, and hook
• Supplemental purchases of $80-something of extra wool ($27.21) in Hobbii Shamrock (3) and black (1), and $55 for 2 skeins of Sulfur and 3 skeins of gold fusion from Cascade.

    This ought to be lower, but I bought too much white by half and the incorrect sized hook. 

Post mortem: technique and tools

    If anything, the Hobbii yarn was more consistent in thickness and tied for knots with the more reputable Cascade. Learn from my mistakes and splurge on the more expensive canvas. The crummy one I bought from Dimensions had glue blobs, some squares broke, and the edges were an uneven nightmare. When hemming, you really only need 2 or 3 good border squares. Use actual thread instead of handy extra yarn! Oh, and if you have a large canvas, roll it to make the hooking easier. This will tear up the back of the hooked areas and also your couch, if you decide that it is the perfect hooking surface instead of the non-catching kitchen table. The canvas will definitely cut you. And, if you don't heed my warning and go with the Dimensions canvas, it will be simultaneously too stiff AND pliable, in a way that cannot be described. There are different sized hooks and chances are, you will pick up one for 3.5 gauge by accident.

Post mortem: accomplishment

    I already miss my latching project. The planned mini rugs will be a quick and fun hook, but the hemming should be a debacle. Enough faffing about! 

I do love it. I will have an outdoor photo shoot of the rug where I attempt to make it look twee and wear cool shoes and pigeon toe my feet or whatever the kids today go for. 

It would be easy to buy a rug. Probably cheaper. I have 3 other rugs, and one has emotions with it and the others are disposable. My Persian rug from my grandparents will always be my prized possession for many reasons - the one I like to brag of is that because of sanctions, you haven't been able to buy a Persian rug since my Nana was in the department store selecting ours. Other reasons are its huge scale, the beautiful natural colors, and of course, the thinness and overall fineness of it. I cannot imagine how long this took! The amount of knots is incalcucuable.

Impressing Myself - Rewiring a Sputnik Ceiling Fixture to a Swag Fixture

I've been lowballing
tri-state residents for
years before someone
accepted!

I failed Electrical Engineering. First problem was it was three times a week at 8 a.m. Second problem was over confidence. I was certain I understood how to make the light blink using ands and ors and parallel and serial and, well... It wouldn't work. And I experienced it again when I found my dream chandelier, the Sputnik! I have a ceiling fixture taking up valuable floor space for the dining area, so this will go in Tootie Pie's room, but we're keeping the fuchsia chandelier. This Sputnik needed to be switched from a ceiling light to a swag. 

Most tutorials say to just switch out the ceiling end connection with an outlet, wrap the correct wires into the screw socket, and voila! But, I don't have an outlet on my ceiling and so I needed a longer cord. I originally bought the clear kind, but didn't realize that the Sputnik is grounded and the transparent kind I bought only had the 2 prongs, so back it went. The second time I went for something special, since I realized after I bought the transparent cord that it didn't have an on-off switch, it wasn't grounded and the fixture was, AND I found much prettier cords. Everything at ColorCord.com is beautiful!

So pretty. I need an 
extension cord in this color!

It took forever, but I figured out how to get the canopy off. Luckily, the chandy has a wire to attach it to the ceiling so that the weight doesn't pull out the wires. But the canopy wasn't just attached to the bar, but also to the wire that holds the weight, which prevented me from getting it off, until I figured out that there's a button on the bottom of the wire attachment that allows it to come off. If I hadn't figured that out, there would be an extra piece at the base of the wire, because I could only manage to move this adjustable canopy finish cap forward to make the wire shorter and shorter. I backed it out okay eventually because it had a hidden button. For a moment, I thought I'd need the jaws of life or a blowtorch to remove the canopy. And, since this is a knock off Sputnik, the wiring was not standard, and my electrical skills are weak. It is a 24 light fixture, and I ended up having to take each arm's wires out and marking the hot wires. Just like in Electrical Engineering 101, I thought my first attempt was golden and the second! I even visited the hardware store to purchase a current tester, but they were double what I was willing to pay. This was the incentive I needed and I did it right finally! If everything was easy, there would be no sense of accomplishment. It works!

In the end, I got the chandelier for $50, plus I had to buy the cord with the switch and a grounded outlet, which cost me $43.93, and new wire nuts cost $2.99. Labor was free but not inexpensive. Under $100. Not including 24 light bulbs. And, a ceiling hook, which, I already had, but I bought another - oops! I will probably eventually find wire nuts - it might be time to organize my hardware. And, a plug converter that I need now because my outlet isn't grounded! Such a rollicking success!

On the one hand, it is
not within the vernacular
of the room...

Now that it's installed, I don't love it! I have turned Tootie Pie's bedroom into a lighting showroom! Even taking into account the facts that it doesn't have the benefit of a full flight of bulbs and that the cord isn't swagged - it doesn't go. In the end, I should have not bothered with my Tord Boontje inspired creation and put the OTHER chrome, armed chandelier that has been on my living room floor into my room, and the Sputnik in the kitchen. The thought process is that the fixture that is on the floor has a base that mounts fixed to the ceiling. Both bedrooms have center ceiling wires and the chandeliers need to move, because we're tall people with little spatial awareness. But, what's done is done. In my next home, we will have 3 bedrooms, one of which will be the craft room, so that my rug making and electrical work, and come to think of it, skyline painting, gardening, and a host of other activities, can all be done in a separate location instead of in our main living area. For now, my studio is immediately upon entry to our home, and her bedroom should be a beacon of Queens.

Glimpse into my
in-process home and 
future starburst area

Ah, she took it down! She CAN be motivated to do things in her room! I never tightened the ceiling hook in her ceiling because I was meeting resistance; not the type of spectacle I want to try on my own - and I tried DIY electrical! Sputnik starburst will live over our refrigerator. Now I regret the cloth cord, because kitchen surfaces should be non-porous. Oh, well, this can be swapped out again for the transparent cord when this bright, cherry pink is coated in grease and mystery sauce. For now, we have more than enough task lighting and my electrical skills are back up-to-date. 

It's Just a Bit More Complicated Now, Love - In Defense of When Harry Met Sally

As a rule, I do not necessarily enjoy, for lack of a better term, chick flicks. Never saw The Notebook. I kind of hate movies with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.  My friends dragged me to Serendipity and just UGH! I was massively uncomfortable and the whole thing was so predictable. But, there is Harold and Maude, the Before trilogy, and of course, When Harry Met Sally. Offbeat romances? 

What I like about Harry and Sally is the realness of it. Love is complicated. You don't write your phone number on a dollar bill and then send it into circulation. What you do do (ha!, I said doodoo) is keep running into that guy that you were forced to interact with and that you cannot stand. Relatable. And because you don't see eye-to-eye with this dude, you feel okay being authentic. They put on a front when they are set up with each other's best friends, and true love is hiding in plain sight as a buddy that they are just bouncing ideas off of and getting the opposite sex's perspective. Yeah, it's a great movie because they are both clueless that they're in love. Like Moonstruck, love doesn't solve your problems: it just creates a mess. Embrace it.

We get a glimpse, just one moment, where we get the happily ever after! This movie is genius!!!! His love of her OCD when it comes to food is everything! And that, my friends, is love. Love is being annoyed to the point of insanity and still being attracted to this soul. Not the blue eyeshadow and not her alphabetized VHS tapes (yes, this is somewhat of a delayed review. I'd also like to congratulate Brian Boitano on that phenomenal free skate = just great!) but how she spends hours on her hair and too much money on shoes and other nonsense that makes her Sally. Harry, where are you? You're late...

These two went to the same Midwestern college and moved to NYC. They disliked each other immediately, and were honestly themselves in an age where it is much easier to be annoyed than find the good in someone. But love will find a way. Sex is easy; it's intimacy that's hard. They are equals until...

I love New York. It really doesn't deserve me and I am too good for the Big Apple, but there's just something about it. Love it or hate it, you probably have an opinion. Like me. Take it or leave it, but I am what I am and I love it, so, Harry, I'm ready, and it helps if you don't bring that coffee table. That stupid, Roy Roger's, wagon wheel coffee table! 

Modern Life Indignities

A list of modern day pet peeves. Know what I hate? Scanning barcodes instead of being handed a menu. Know why? Because you only need to update one record to change the prices instead of reprinting a full set of menus. I detest filling out customer service forms online and getting a form email with a logo where a person's name should be. When did it become acceptable to tell a customer, nope, can't help you. No suggestions are given as to what to do, not even a pat courtesy word like "sorry" or "hello". Self-checkout? Don't blame me when I scan a smart TV accidentally as a bag of spinach. It is grim.

What do we do with this feeling of being a stone let for blood? We have short-cutted and streamlined our way into this mess and it shows no sign of stopping. It is impossible to save the planet when I cannot even talk to a human about issues I am experiencing. We are all in crisis. Racing to the bottom isn't working any longer.

Please stop taking this out on Jane and John Q. Public. We are weary and suspicious and we're tired of our only choices being stepping on or being trod upon. Civility. It is time.

We cannot wait for someone else to do it. Society is too cut-throat as it is. Don't add fuel to the fire - the world is already burning.

Carry on! Help out and carry on.

The Holdovers - The Perfect Film

Up until now, I reviewed one movie, Inside Out, which is perfect, and one most unlikely franchise, the "Before" triology. And here is another film made just for me: The Holdovers. If you don't like this film, then you should turn in your humanity card because you're a droid. It is lovely.

What can I say? Da'Vine Joy Randolf won the award, yes, and even if they rolled the credits after her introductory eyeroll, she deserved it. That eyeroll said the whole story AND I was on the edge of my seat waiting to find out the story! Oh, this movie will punch you, leave you for dead, and it will make you laugh alone like a crazy person. Which is part of the story, but I don't want to give it away.

Skinny boys with hidey hair are not new.

No, this movie is a discovery and I would never take that from someone. See it. Now. Paul Giamatti is a national treasure and just when you think he couldn't make you fall for him more, he goes and makes you fall for him more. Did you feel that kiss his coworker gave her boyfriend? But...I thought...wasn't she?...didn't they?... And, the eye! He is pitiful and raw and sad and full of wasted potential, his character, and if that sounds just like Miles in Sideways, it's because it's exactly like Miles in Sideways. He is such a prickly asshole, and then you find out why. It is heartbreaking. He even drinks his best bottle of booze at rock bottom, and it is again breath-takingly beautiful when he spits it out. Thank you, Paul!

Every teacher's nightmare: losing control

And, I feel like I'm giving an acceptance speech of my own, thanks to the director, Alexander Payne. I'm not an actor and I need to work with him! The boy in this film was a first-time actor, so there's hope! 

So now let me tell you about the film - not! I will tell you how applicable it is to me and my life, because, it's all about me here. So, it is set in December 1970-January 1971 in a snowy New England prep school over Christmas break. A tumultuous time, for certain, and it's the time and place where I came into awareness. I was born in, gasp!, 1968, before the moon landing which is referenced in the film. It also shows Mary, the recently widowed black mother whose son died in Vietnam, watching the average television program full of white people. The Jeffersons and Good Times are still in the future here. There is obviously still a hierarchy, and this movie explores in part the inequity of our culture. In some ways it has changed and frustratingly it has not changed in far too many others. And, yes, three oddball leftovers with fraught lives form an unlikely alliance and see each other as people, just like themselves, and that is tired territory, or is it universal? It doesn't matter, because this is art, and even if one million people sing the same tune or paint the same picture, the results will always be unique, just like us.

Looking back on my life, I feel it is these very differences and misunderstandings that keep us from knowing that underneath, all those individuals feel exactly the same as we do. As a former teacher in Queens, NY, in a time of great migration, it was pandemonium, yes. Absolute and utter chaos. So is our world. Embrace it and stop silo-ing yourself with only like-minded folk. Society is crumbling, yes, but the world's always been on fire, and I guess the good news is the poor and disenfranchised are no longer paying for the sins of the rich by getting shot in a jungle or putrid trench. There will be suffering, and perhaps if we all shouldered the burden equally it would be a bit more tolerable. We are truly in this together; why compound the problem? Life is like a henhouse ladder, afterall...

Breaking Away from Convention

I was a teacher. Once a teacher, always a teacher. It is impossible to not want to enlighten people once you've developed a taste for it. I spend a great deal of time thinking, and when I'm not thinking, I'm talking. Talking clarifies my thoughts, but so does putting emphasis on reflection.

So much wisdom to impart. So, I documented here on this blog my health scares that resulted in my attention to every moment of every day. Nothing is guaranteed, and I am now on my 3rd major health scare, and, even if it doesn't actually get easier to deal with fear and pain, it is my fear and pain and I am feeling something. That's life. It can be sublimely ecstatic or dreadfully painful, but it's an experience! Feel the wonderful life that is within you; let nothing be lost upon you - Oscar Wilde

I look to the greats for bits and pieces of my philosophy. I also look to travel to broaden my mind and see things in a way I never would have expected. I cannot plan travel for quite some time due to my health issues, but I can still read the greats, who did travel. Here's some of their unattributed wisdom:

• The Paris slums are a gathering-place for eccentric people - people who have fallen into solitary, half-mad grooves of life and given up trying to be normal or decent. Poverty frees them from ordinary standards of behavior, just as money frees people from work.
• And there is another feeling that is a great consolation in poverty. I believe everyone who has been hard up has experienced it. It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs — and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it.
• It is fatal to look hungry. It makes people want to kick you.
• He might be ragged and cold or even starving, but so long as he could read, think and watch for meteors, he was, as he said, free in his own mind.
• Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things can not be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime.
• Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.

This is one of my favorite books, by a famous author, but I bet you can't guess the author. No cheating.

Right now, my convalescence that was a gift from my sister and father is coming to a close. I need to get back to the grind and yesterday, sick or not. I have used this time, amongst other things, to travel back in my mind. It has been one of the best trips I have ever taken. I have an old friend to thank for that: a very, very patient friend who may not have pure intentions but neither do I. I am very lucky. Even not feeling well, I am enjoying myself. And, hey! if this great author can be cold, ragged and starving and yet broad and free, I can do it warm, ragged, and starting to finally fill up.  

Fish Motif - Dory and Marlin Papier-Mâché

During yet another convalescence, I have documented my delve into the creative with my adventure with the Whale Song art paper purchase. I asked my sisters if they want the Orrefors crystal whale that my mother picked up at some soirée. And, now, because I need to put up not one, but 2 curtain rod holders, I am fashioning Dory and Marlin figures from paper cutouts transferred to cardboard.

The crystal finback?

Before we get into the process, let me tell you about my esteem for this film. In a way, needing to plan everything so meticulously I think led to its brilliance. The staff were taught to scuba, and everyone at Pixar became immersed in the underwater. And the story came from a long drive shared between the producers or directors, bemoaning how this very drive was preventing them from being with their children. Separation anxiety is real. Life is an adventure, and adventures involve risk. It takes Marlin a while to understand that Nemo can do it. And it took a tang fish with a short term memory problem to show him how.

Cardboard armature base scaled and traced from the internet, I loaded up the base with balls of paper, and then set those in place using masking tape. Over that rough situation, I did a papier-mâché covering, and then set to smoothing this out more by making papier maché clay. Mhhhhhm. With grout, because all the other recipes called for calcium carbonate or spackling compound, not DAP. We are shopping from home, so, I had grout. So, my adapted recipe consisted of the following:

The paper tracing from
internet, plus wads of paper,
masking taped to Dory
armature. Two masking taped
balls will function as her eyes

Now I have started
adding my paper
clay slurry to smooth
out the eyes and
other oopsies.

2 parts water to one part flour, or is it the other way around? The papier mâché base, plus salt, to preserve it. To this, I added shredded paper and let it sit for a bit, and added some light napkins and then Aleene's Fabric Glue, because this is what I had on hand. And, a quick whirl with my immersion blender, and then add in the grout and some corn starch. With this concoction, I smoothed out the joints with the fins and also built up their eyes and brows. And generally made them more symmetrical, if possible. It was fun. Finally, I gave the whole figure a smooth skim coat with my offset frosting spatula.

I also cut out a hand-drawn coral and some wavy grass that I repeated 5 times. The grass was veined with another sliver of paper and papier-machéd with textured crepe paper. The coral was just cut from cardstock and thickened with multiple Modge Podge and supported with scraps of cardboard. These will form the backdrop of the curtain holders. No idea where the fish will go. I kind of wished I would have made an anemone! 

To cover the horrible spackling
job that I did over the staircase:
fronds like you, who needs 
anemones?

In any case, I need to figure out how to make these 3D figurines really smooth, as in the tutorial that I am boldly ripping off. I suppose a sanding is in order. And then, to smooth it out with Modge Podge for that final glossy finish. Then, the paint, the fun part. The part where I realize that the surface is not glass-like enough, as I did with my Bjorn Winblaad vase. We're trying to live and learn...the hard way.

Now, to find out how my DIY paper clay recipe holds up to sanding. It's like sanding grout. But doable. And, sturdy, so that's a plus! But, after painstakingly sanding the dry figurines, I finally decided to rinse them of the dust and then I found that a quick dousing and they are so much more easily sandable! So, even better. Now that they're painted and sealed, I put them in situ, over the staircase. I love my little fish friends!

Well, now the whale is going to eat Marlin while 
Dory watches. She then decides to be ingested
with him and they argue about his belly being 
half full or half empty.

Leslie & Ann - Friendship

Rosie the Riveter and a female astronaut. Galentine's!

Since my retirement, I've been going through many phases, or as I used to call them, hair brained schemes. I have documented my artistic forays, and my blog post output is on the rise. Some of these phases are continuations of love affairs that I have for certain things, like Leslie Knope. Okay, that's the main character of a late 2000s t.v. show called Parks and Recreation. For the people in the blogosphere that are still confused, Chris Pratt got his start here, and as a special feature he manifested a phone call from Steven Spielberg about Jurassic World II. So, once, again, I have something amazing that I cannot contribute to its correct owner, because, I wrote down the words, but not the title of the YouTube video I stole it from. Here it is: 

Leslie and Ann's arc throughout the (first) season ends on a hopeful note, even if their romantic aspirations are both dashed. What's more important than them finding love, is they found each other and form a friendship that will last throughout the rest of Parks and Recreation and reveals that Parks and Recreation was not about how these two women found love but how they found their best friend.

And that's what I love about Parks and Recreation: that it celebrates all types of love, especially between women. Here is a quote from the lovely Rashida Jones (Ann):

Most girls have friends that are like, that's awesome, you're great, how, how can I help you? How can I support your life and make you a better person, or what can we talk about to make you feel better about your own life?

And, yes, most girls do have friends like that. Life friends. I am lucky in that I have two automatic friends that go by the more family-oriented term "sisters", but I have attracted some great friends over the years.

I'm thinking of a particular old
friend that ended up being my
birthing partner!

When you go through a major transition, usually this means adding joy and more love to a life: marriage, birth, anniversaries, college, moving, bringing someone home to dinner. These are the moments that mark a life. But there are other transitions that are not as joyous: divorce, death, health concerns and, to a certain extent, retirement. Well, I can say that those not so cool life events are really working as a team to make my life quite the endurance contest. Well, I am pleased to report that my team of friends are helping and supporting and making me a better person. By just talking, and being there.

The background of this scene is, Leslie is clinically
unable to give a gift that isn't thoughtful and time-
consuming, so her friend made her wedding gown
out of her political good press!

It takes a long time to grow an old friend. I am glad mine are old! I am glad I am old. And retired. And sick, divorcing and still grieving the loss of my best friend ever, my mom. She is giving me the determination I need every day, along with the still living friends. I couldn't choose my mother, but if I could, I would certainly never be able to improve upon the one I was lucky enough to get. I can and did chose my friends, and I would never be able to improve upon the ones I was lucky enough to get.

Bonus friends: April and Donna! Girl squad!

Luck o'the Irish.