Pregnancy induced insanity aka symptoms know as Harpy, Medusa...

Lalalalalalala.... pregnancy isn't so bad!

My hair is GORGEOUS!  My skin glows!  The whole shave your legs and the hair grows back by morning, well that is a bit annoying but it's okay!  I eat the same foods (except anything tomato sauce based, everything tomato sauced based has expired). Weight gain has been manageable with careful diet and reasonable exercise.

I sleep like the dead and I am so happy.

So happy!!

Most of the time.... but when I am not happy.......

Then the world crashes and burns.  Torrential down pours of drowning rain bring death and destruction and sweep everything into a pit of eternal despair.

It can be funny to retell these stories, I have had co-workers in tears laughing as I related the antics of my three year old brain but in all seriousness, it is kind of terrifying.

Usually I am an overly full of serotonin and lighthearted kind of human.... but when this new inner toddler hijacks my body, mouth and emotions.... I morph into something I don't recognize.

Harpy is defined as "a rapacious monster described as having a woman's head and body and a bird's wings and claws or depicted as a bird of prey with a woman's face."

Just a couple of days ago, I suddenly and inexplicably started to erupt snarky cutting comments, to vocalize off topic and sometimes slightly cruel observations until a certain person started to at last react.  THEN as a indefensible defense mechanism, I promptly dissolved into inconsolable tears and tragic desolation.

Intelligently, this person stopped to give me a coffee break/ potty break (and himself a sanity break) at the first gas station.

I hurried to the bathroom to wash my face in cold water and then hide in the safety of a stall but the power combo of my blood shot eyes, flushed cheeks, sticky blond hair and ever expanding tummy inspired two very sweet ladies to barge in and herd me out so they could rub my back, and tummy, and tell me "todo estará bien" over and over again.

In my shaky bewildered and forlorn state, I gratefully drank in their kindness. I let them embrace me and attempt to dry my salty and saturated face with their hand stitched hankies...

Eventually I emerged and brought my coffee to the heavily leathered, seven foot, salt and pepper breaded, masculine person behind the counter.  This giant towered over to pat my hand, tell me the coffee was on the house and ask if he needed to fix any trouble I might be in....

And then reason suddenly blinked it's lights back on....how nice of it to FINALLY show up!

I took stock of my current place in the world.  Shame and horror combined with a dark inner snicker as I realized the complete and absolute ridiculousness of my situation...

I attempted to give a small reassuring smile at the good intentions of the deeply tanned tattooed human anxiously watching me.

Mischievously.... I almost giggled. I almost restarted the water works.

It was a deeply conflicted moment as I realized this all had begun because earlier the car was locked for a minute and I had then waited for about another minute for it to be unlocked it and then... and then... we just drove off...

I didn't get to go potty....

That. Was. The. Trigger.

I turned to face the doors of doom and the person (who I had just poured a ten gallon bucket of irrational outraged accusations on) who sat grimly, quietly in the car waiting for me...

He couldn't exactly have followed me in... our little four legged friend requires the car's air conditioning to be on full blast this time of year.

I sighed and began the second longest walk of my life out of that dusty gas station. I glumly climbed in, my face turning redder by the second as I silently replayed the events of the last three hours to myself and hunched my shoulders over for a silent new bawl at my surmise....

My plea is pathetic but I must submit it regardless.

Reader it was pregnancy induced insanity....

again....

Smallest of Warriors (Original Art)

'Smallest of Warriors'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media/ Layered Art

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

Hello Roxie!

My outfit rocks today.

This is worth noting because many of my daily clothing choices are an epic fail lately.  The expanding waist line has only added to my usual morning closet conflict.

Anyway... Roxie

Roxie is a sweet hearted, gentle, attention mongering little creature. Cute picture huh?

Roxie is the newly adopted member of my extended family.  My Mom took her in the day before Mother's day.  Roxie is staying with us for about a week.

This is awesome because Luna has been in dire need of puppy time and these two knuckle heads are about the same age, similar in size and LOVE each other.

Yes they met less than a month ago - But their comparable energy levels, sense of fun and mischief, shared need to tumble, tackle and run, have made them soul sisters.

Together they have the destructive power of a category five tornado.

The first morning, the day after Roxie arrived, I left for work at 7:30am and I sadly choose to leave them with free reign of the house.  I figured my husband is soon up at 7:45am and they were still eating breakfast and how much trouble could two little dogs get into??!

Fifteen minutes Reader.

In fifteen minutes they had up sided three large house plants, removed all couch pillows and cushions (but they were undamaged), knocked over the bar stools and were happily fighting over a tug toy next to the now crooked coffee table.

He put Roxie in her "crate", a soft fabric zippered box.

Since this act signaled to Luna that the games were presently over so she hurried back to bed.

Later that day, suspicious after the incoming call advised me of the situation created in fifteen minutes, I took a rare lunch to check on the dangerous duet.

I discovered Roxie can "hamster" her container and had done so all over the main floor.

Luna knew the crooked couches, tables, turned over plants and look on my face equaled possible doom so hurried herself back to bed until the skies cleared.

I really wanted to be mad but they were so happy...  so I let Roxie out and called Luna back downstairs to kick them both outside, where they wanted to be anyway....

Upon leaving I tried to barricade the living room with kitchen chairs to keep the hamster effect contained to one room.

Fail

Thankfully, that evening a sturdy and trustworthy looking wire crate arrived.  My favorite person put it together and I introduced her to it.

Although Luna graduated from her crate several months she still knows the quiet ask "Kennel" will be followed with tasty snacks.

She helpfully showed Roxie this.  So although Roxie was not exactly thrilled, she was amiable and willing.

Walking Roxie with Luna was an event.  Roxie finds every sound, direction and distraction interesting and worth investigating.  Walking past a driveway?  We must go up it!  Oncoming car?  Lets jump in front of it! Child riding bicycle?  Run around human's legs until she trips!

In a bid to make it home alive and desperate for an immediate solution, I tied her to Luna's collar.

This worked GREAT!

Luna wears a gentle lead because she is a spazy determined creature who has literally nearly dislocated my shoulder on a walk BUT Luna does get that moving cars are dangerous and walking in a straight line is the goal.

These are very important concepts.

...hehehehehehehe.... for your viewing entertainment

The end of this story, is as I walked in on today's contained disaster, I was grateful for the sturdy wire crate today.


...Like the hedgehog?

Roxie does too.  It is her most prized possession.  I found her in her crate, semi-buried in what was left of her bed, giving her hedgehog a bath.

Just as I leaned down to release her, Charlie torpedoed past at warp speed causing Roxie's vocal chords and heart to accelerate even more.

I realized Luna is not the only playmate in the house for Roxie and letting her out I watched the collision of three happy furry bodies.




Knuckleheads....

March of the Elephants (Original Art)

'March of the Elephants'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media

Details

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

March of the Elephants (In Progress)

Sometimes when I am dreaming and I wake up me, my dream follows me with billowing soft and heavy feet into the waking world.

It was hot and it was dry.  The sun was brutally blinding.

In the far away distance, purple clouds built blue contrasts of rain and gushing wind.

My hair caught in my mouth and eyes as I heard them and then watched.

Their heavy footsteps caused billowing soft dust to swirl up in towers of smoke preceding their measured approach.

And I watched.

........Sharply in contrast a bird, from my waking world called outside the window

- My dream self turned at the sound and I stumbled, waking myself up.  Just before I opened my eyes, I watched the dream fracture.  

I wondered at the patterns of thought and sleep and I watched.  

Watched the March of the Elephants step out of the dream

'March of the Elephants'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media

Final

Panic

I don't like selfies.  I think I look like an idiot, smiling blankly at a mini plastic box. I decided to make this exception so you could come with me and Luna this evening.

It's cool and dry and warm and the air is rich and there are deer up the mountain behind me and quail dodging Luna's scrabbling feet.

Panic is a funny button.  One I usually prefer to push by myself.

I enjoy it sometimes simmered with coffee. Other times it is better toasted with wine.

Sometimes, like this evening, I like most to take it for a walk.  I dearly love to walk.

Once away from accidental eyes, I take it out of my pocket, unfold and smooth out the creases and picture it becoming as large as a bed sheet made of tissue paper.

I shred it into little pieces, and as I do, I imagine it turns into different colors.  Then I toss this confetti of color, so light they float, up into the air.

I let these tiny thoughts of fragmented conjecture wash around and over in waves of salty release until at last I let them get mixed into aspen leaves ruffled by the wind woman's hands.

I get that this is a mental game, a head game.  I get that, I do.

I realized a long long while ago that life is just one big head game.  And the best thing to do is to be the one running them.  

And to go for a walk with a friend.

Fractured Beauty (Original Art)

'Fractured Beauty'

I created this work using mixed media and Platte knives, (no brushes) featuring Sunflowers layered under and over a lattice pattern cut with Cricut's Explore® Air  

24" X 24" X 1.5"
Details
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Dear Moms....

Dear Moms,

You have a gig that would make any non-Mom human falter.  I had no clue until I recently began to try on the idea. Now that I am getting an inkling, I am floored.

Hi Mom, the one who breast pumps milk at work while hiding in the unlocked server room which contains four air conditioning units on full blast to keep said servers cool under a blanket woofing down your lunch - You are a super hero.

Hi Mom of two, you breast pump in an un-lockable office supply closet.  Due to work demands and time off constraints, you went back at three and half weeks... after you tore to a three in delivery.  You can't sit down still so you have propped up your monitors with boxes and you stand all day.   Co-workers ask how your month off went.  Some how you have not clocked anyone in the mouth.  I don't know how.  If you cave and do, I promise to vouch for you and say it was self defense.

Hello Mom who isn't breast feeding,  the office wanted to go out for lunch.  To welcome you back. To get there we drove over a long and bumpy road.  You sat in the back, polite grin frozen on your teeth as your tightly bound breasts shot unthinkable amounts of pain through your body over every jolt.  I furtively watched your face turn whiter by the moment... I am really sorry...

This other Mom happens to be one of my most admired people.  She's a widow with three girls and has since all that upheaval, has re-married and had a little boy (now almost two) with the new hubby. She got in thirty minutes late the other day.  Someone said something catty about it.  Since I know her, I reached under the conference table and squeezed her hand.  She hung on back.  She was at hospital with little dude all night, and came home in the morning to find her younger daughter in a pickle I won't elaborate on here.  Point is that lady some how already turned in all of things needed for this morning by 8am.

Seriously society?

You grow a human for nine months in your body, have it extracted from your vagina or your stomach and society doesn't say, hey, since you just train wrecked your life and body, you should take the fourth trimester to heal and recover, to attempt to get onto a normal sleeping schedule, to adjust to having a tiny human in your world.

This culture says, 'Hey, get back to work! You're lucky we gave you any time off!"

I believe having a kid is a personal choice so I don't mean paid time off should be expected.  It's awesome when companies choose to but what I mean is, how can a society expects these Mom's to hurry the hell up and get back on the clock?  Or else they will consider you just a lazy entitled step-ford wife hanging out getting her nails done.  If a Mom wants to, has to, chooses to go back asap, totally cool... but at least give her a little slack!

I see you, all of you, finally, and I am a little intimidated by all of you because you are the ultimate bad-ass.

Fractured Beauty (Work In Progress)

"Fractured Beauty"

Mixed Media

24" X 24" X 1.5"
Final

Walla Walla Vineyards (Original Art)

 Walla Walla, WA

20" X 24" 1.5" 

Oil Pastel on Acrylic

Hands

It's 3am and I am listening to you.

I am a curvy kind of female.  Flat tummy, strong legs for skiing down mountains, a bit short on height and regular features.  Will you love snow? Will you be little like I was, when you are little?  Will you have his dark hair and grey blue eyes or my green ones?

In the beginning weeks, I reached for you and found nothing there.  Then around ten weeks I felt something, awakening maybe?  I am not sure of the word.   It was a feeling like watching a seed first crack open.  At twelve I felt colors... I dreamed colors.  Reds, yellow, blues and lavender.

When I sit up, stand up, there isn't anything to show.  There is nothing that yet gives away your hiding place.  It's only here, now, when it is dark and quiet, when I can feel my tummy's slightly rounded firmness, where I cloak your world.  It is only in this quiet hour when sometimes, deep inside, I wake up because you fluttered.

My fingers flutter back to you and I think about your hands.  How they are developing, your nerves connecting, sensitivity building, the essence of you, which will choose who you become, solidifying.

I confess I am vain about my own hands. I like watching them.  They are loveliest when I am holding a bit of chalk and my nail polish is coated in a dusting of purples and greens and a bit of fire red. They are the anchor of my essence, the extension and sum of all I am.

I have a thing for hands in general, so many people do extraordinary things with their's. I watch my best friend working on a broken sprinkler head, kiting up his wing or fixing my computer.... his fingers dancing across the key board to repair whatever I broke, again, with the elegance of a concert pianist.  I think about his hands holding your hands.

What will you do with your hands?

Little Luna and our Tantrums

My best friend and I had a good day yesterday.  Pretty sure it has to do with the tangle the morning came in.

Sometimes, when we are unable to sleep we  migrate to the second bedroom.  This peaceful room has walls painted a calming adobe brown.  In the dead of night, I woke up for a moment.  Just for a moment.  I was unable to move in the mess of our arms, pillows and hands and I thought about puzzle boxes before heavy sleep returned again.  Are you familiar with puzzle boxes? The ones where different pieces slid about around until they at last open the middle?

We are a puzzle box.

For today's morning we both raged with terrifying thunder claps and fiery fury.  He escalated to a winding tornado and my response was to turn into bitter frost.

I think this is why we work.   I have no fear in the face of a heat that would melt most.  Antarctica does not look at the Sudan and see a mortal enemy.

Darling heeled boots and my precious swirling skirt added to my grandeur as I ended our battle by closing the bedroom door softly, deafeningly, behind me.

Poor little Luna.  She had been snuggled deeply into her quilt and pillow on her king sized foam bed when startled awake by our snarling, she ran for cover from the fall out of our vocals to hide in her kennel downstairs.

She graduated from being kept in her kennel when home alone months ago but she really likes her space so I removed the door and hid it between the wall and couch.  Naps in it on her other foam bed are another of her favorites.

I went down and sat on the floor a few feet away and whispered soothingly until the little creature peaked out to survey my face and see if the storm had cleared.

We never yell at Luna.  Never.  A sharp word breaks her heart.

I smiled at her and held my hands open and coaxed her forward until at last she cautiously crept out and into my arms for a cuddle.

To convince that the fight had nothing to do with her, I sat on the floor next to her while she ate breakfast and drank my coffee.  This gave me a little time to cool down too and grin ruefully at the remembering the verbal boxing match.

And then I went to work.

The Old Moon

12" X 24" 

The Old Moon

 (Gels, Acrylic, mixed medias) 

Inspired by...

Using mixed media and an abstract direction, this piece is an interpretation of the children's poem "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod" and related to my post "Hands"

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

Hey there seventeen going on eighteen. It's me, thirty five going on thirty six.

I was thirty five this last year.  Quickly coming up on thirty six.  I love certain numbers for no particular reason and thirty six is one of those numbers.

I don't like odd numbers as much. Odd years, etc.  Ek.

I may be a bit superstitious.  You are too.

This year is going to be awesome.  In celebration of it's arrival, I went digging around through the two bins that contain EVERYTHING about me pre-twenty four and found the below piece of work (photos below).  I am grinning holding it and under my breath I mumbled,

'Hey there seventeen going on eighteen.  It's me, thirty five going on thirty six'.

I swear I could feel my younger self glancing up as I drew it back then in that tiny bedroom I rented from that older older lady that summer.

I remember wondering a lot, back then, if I would ever start writing songs again, or when I would again play the flute or pick up poetry. My 'voice' had been silenced for over a year at that time.

No, I didn't. I haven't written a song since it was extinguished. I am so sorry seventeen almost eighteen, I never could find that voice again.

But I found a new voice.

And I really really wish that some how I could reach back and touch your hand and tell you it's going to be a hell of a lot better than all right.

Thank you for this little piece of the past I forgot I had kept.  I burned, literally, so much  I forget what photos and pieces survived the purge of twenty two.  I remember why I saved this one, it was the quote on one side and the poem on the other.

I have thought about that quote every single time I made a friend who turned out to be a kindred spirit. And it has always, for nearly twenty years, been absolutely true.

"For true partnership is achieved only by separate and whole persons who retain their separateness even as they unite."

And then that poem... I was a mess at this time but in a moment of clarity that night I wrote it as a declaration, as a promise.

I believe that words have weight.  I believe that by putting emotions, promises, premonitions; into words, into shapes, colors - I believe that act binds one to them.  So maybe this battered piece of cardboard, the only canvas I could have afforded at the time, sketched with a sharpie and watered down nail polish, bound me to the future I live in now.

And that is awesome.

 

Walla Walla Vineyards (Original Art)

20" X 24" 1.5" 

Oil Pastel on Acrylic

New work in progress. Time to pay a little homage to gorgeous Walla Walla, WA

Softened Sandpaper

I was old and you were old and the world so different we didn’t recognize it.  I dreamed your hand felt like warm softened sand paper and my bones felt light and fragile as a bird’s.

We were smiling, with our exhausted faces.

And then I woke up in this dry desert of a state with the smell of rain and green things in my inhale. 

My body is still strong, albeit a few pounds over ideal, and I thought about that quote I always seem to think about, “What makes life so bitter sweet that it will never come again”.  I am para-phasing, it’s an Eleanor Roosevelt one.

Remember when you worried aloud, early on, that we had so little in common? I, the day dreamer, the artist, the wanderer.  You, the thinker, the problem solver, the adventurer.

And I laughed and said I gloried in it.  The gorgeous, strange kaleidoscope of you and I.  And a little skeptical, a little bemused, you have held my hand and haven’t let go any more than I ever could of yours.

Ah our manic battles, our compromises, the raging tantrums, the astounding grace of the story that is this of you and I.

Landscapes - A Group Art Show (Hosted by Mod a-go-go)

I am excited to say my 'Autumn Rain' and 'A Walk in a Dream' will be included in Mod a-go-go's Landscape group show starting this Friday, February 19th and going through March 13th. :)

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request)

She called Your Name (Original Work)

'She called Your Name'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

(Acrylic, Oil Pastels)

Details

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

A Year in with Luna

Luna came into our lives a year ago this month. An earnestly goodhearted young creature with giant bat like ears and endearingly bright amber eyes; Luna was from the New Mexico desert and newly landed in Utah, rescued from a cull by Rescue Rovers and now adopted by us.


Sweet little Luna, her beseeching eyes nearly came out of her head on that drive home. I sat with her, as she shivered and her cries trembled out of her throat. On the way home, we stopped for a new collar and treats. She politely took them but could only cough them back out of her dry mouth.

We introduced her, on leash to Charles, but our caution proved unnecessary. She was too scattered and only briefly touched her nose to his. We showed her the house, introduced her to her crate, toy box and last to her bed next to ours.

Luna inherited Sal’s giant bed; this bed sports a large yellow egg shell foam core (to cuddle my Sal’s achy bones), topped with a soft giant quilt folded in four and pillow. I had de-furred and thoroughly washed this deluxe set up and added a stuffed animal I had been sleeping with.

Tidal waves of anxiety were rolling off of her. I sat down on the floor and patted her bed to encourage her onto it. She heavily sighed and walked her trembling self onto it. She let me cuddle her close and pressing my forehead to hers I whispered she was safe, how excited we were to get to know her -I know she could not comprehend my words but dogs can innately pick up the tenor of our tones.

I stoked her shoulders and face until the shivering abated and decided to leave her unleashed overnight.

She slept the sleep of the dead and didn’t move once. I didn’t bother to get her up the next morning as I left for work either. My sweetheart did get her up later and let her out in the yard. She ran her heart out exploring and as he went to retrieve her, (so he could go to work) he discovered the difficulty of recalling a little desert dog who did not have a name, much less any understanding of human words.

An hour later he did get her back into the house after bribing with lunch meat and other tasty treats.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of terrifying noise (cars, garage doors, blow dryers, microwaves), she trucked through the first three months by sleeping… a lot. I started tracking and I think she actually slept about 22 hours out of every 24.

We took her for long walks every single day. I constantly pulled her tucked tail back up and kissed her face. I inundated her with treats, using the words I wanted her to learn; Luna, treats, watch me, potty, outside, inside, leave it, walk, ride, go ahead, go to bed, go to kennel…

Four months in she began to wake up. At this time we were flooding her with toys to give her outlets as she graduated from being kenneled when we are gone. Overcoming her fear of the car was a game of patience. As she grew to trust me, I would sit in the back seat and coax her in with treats.

Now, the words, ‘Let’s go for a ride’ results in a ballistic dance of happiness.

Looking back over this year, quite a few people have said she thrived because of our patience and the time we spent working with her. While that is true… she was incredibly patient with us too.

Yesterday, someone complimented her and I offhandedly replied, “Yeah! It has been a lot of work” they kinda paused and said, “I know you say that but every time I see her, she seems so gentle and focused on trying to be good, trying to understand”

I paused and ruefully agreed.

I have been holding back. I loved my Sal dearly.  Just typing that, I could bawl for an afternoon.

Little Luna and I went for a walk yesterday and a few minutes in she came bounding up, to say hello, to check in, to kiss my hand and then dart off with lightning speed.

I stopped and she froze. Many yards away, she froze. She was listening for my steps and paused when she didn’t hear them. I knelt down just as she looked back. And in that moment, she launched at me, hurling her slender self with such velocity she couldn’t stop in time and I didn’t get out of the way. We collided in a mess of tail wagging and snow covered laughing.

 

Her Feathers Carried Change (Work In Progress)

I have been traveling the last bit and it is very satisfying to now be home and able work on her.  The overlays are all nearing completion which is exciting.  I can soon start to work on her details, talons, face, and feathers.

"Owl Called my Name"

'Her Feathers Carried Change'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

Oil Pastel, Acrylic on Canvas

**Work in Progress**

Final

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2am (Work in Progress)

**Work in Progress**

2am

11" X 14" X 1.5"

Arcylic, Oil Pastel, Gels

Details

Roses and Bubbles (Doodle art)

Charlie...and the Vet...

Whenever I work from home, such as this week, Charlie considers my getting to work on time of the utmost importance... I start around 6:45am and he is sitting outside the closed office door at 6:40am. If I am not there at 6:43am, he will begun to alert me (and the neighborhood) that I am late.

PS: Charlie is not allowed in the office alone... ever... there are plants (non-toxic) to be eaten/ dug up, paint brushes he believes are chew toys, etc. etc.

To keep the peace, I open the office, tuck him into his office chair next to mine and flipped on the computer by 6:35am.

Happy Charlie:

I then go retrieve coffee and get Luna up for breakfast.

Eyeing his snoring  whiskers around 8am I remembered he and I were going to the vet today....

GAAHHHHHHH.... resting my chin on my hand and morosely gulping overly strong and hot coffee, I considered the ways I might make this less of an embarrassing and stressful afternoon.

My negative energy wakes him up and he does what any sensible friend does when their friend is acting weird and staring at them.

He sits on me.

Ok, ok... this will not be too bad,

I'd already set his carrier out in the hall, lined it with a soft towel and taped a trash bag over it. I'd left the crate door open and a favorite treat in the back.

His appointment is at 4pm, which is perfect.  His automatic feeder goes off at 4pm (Charlie does not believe day light savings should have any impact on meals so we bought an automatic feeder and never change the time). This is perfect because we will leave at 3:45pm and his tummy will be pretty much empty.

He is also going to a vet that is ten minutes from home. And last this appointment is just a check up! No shots!

It's going to be easy.
Or easier.
Or not so bad,.,

During lunch time, he decided to get up and come downstairs to commit an attempted murder by sitting right behind me while I made lunch.  Or maybe he was just trying to get me to trip and then he could eat my lunch. Maybe he likes hanging out with me....AND he would like my lunch.

Either way, it was at this time, he noticed the crate in the hall.

Slowly he stood and sauntered over. He sniffed the air from a careful distance from the open door, his tail began to twitch, his ears slowly flatten... he does not enter for my paltry offering in the crate.   He turns and looks at me and utters a slow low disgusted growl.

He knows I am going to betray him.

Toast.

Bugger the internet and the advise to leave the crate out!  This is the third time I have done it and all it does it leave us in a fight for the rest of the day.

I go on to eat my lunch in lonely silence.  He does not return to the office to attempt to get in on my lunch or to continue his afternoon nap or to interrupt my conference call. He stays downstairs, on the other bed on his lazy boy.  He keeps his back to me and he does not purr if I pet him.

All right, fine. But At least his tummy will be empty, the drive is short and the visit a benign check up.

About thirty minutes before it is time to leave I eat three pieces of dark chocolate and drink an overly strong giant mug of black tea.

I put on comfortable shoes, add the to-go mess bag (paper towels, disinfectant, hand sanitizer) to the car, change my shirt into a more casual one, pull my hair up and and stuff it under a hat, take a deep breath and head in for battle.

He knows this routine.  He is prepared and darts for the bedroom and the safe havens offered in them but I have closed all doors and with Luna's help, we corner him by his automatic food bowl.

Getting him into the carrier is easier than it should be...
BURNT TOAST! I left the treat in there earlier.  He snarfs it down in record time.
Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh.............

There is nothing to be done, I tell myself and carefully lift the carrier by the bottom (using the handle jostles him all over the place) and put him in the back seat and secure it with a seat belt.

The blasted animal begins to howl a mournful and terrible song.  His serenade is so loud that as I back the car out, a neighbor retrieving mail pauses to gap at me.  Charlie makes this sound, only in the car mind you, that sounds like a small child drowning in a well of water.  It is awful; deep, tragic, echoing and it fills the car with such bellowing that my whiten knuckles could crack the steering wheel.

Music, of any kind, will only make him louder.  Rolling down the windows in today's balmy 15 degrees seems rational but I don't give him.

Staring at the clock, counting the minutes, I take each turn gently, each acceleration is a soft increase in speed.  My right arm is twisted uncomfortably behind me so that my fingers are in the crate door and his face is smashed into them.

"You can do this Char bear!  Only eight more minutes!"

"ArrrrghhhhwwwwwwaaaaaaYYYYYY" he replies.

Salvia suddenly coats my finger tips as snort from his snot results in a sneeze.
TOAST.

He is going to up chuck...

"Four more minutes little friend!"

He moans, shoving his nose into a fingernail accidentally, "AhHHHHHHMMMMMEEEEOOWW"
(Translation: "WHY???")

"Two minutes! Wait! Now we are in the parking lot!"

But it is too late.

At the last split second, he pulls his snotty little face away and belches his treat into the back of his carrier along with a surprising amount of fluid.

Parking, I quickly wipe my disgusting finger tips with a paper towel from the mess bag and apply sanitizer and haul him in his crate carefully out of the vehicle.  (Prolonged exposure can him throw up again.)

Small piece of luck!  We are presently the only patients in the office.  The front person asks if she can help and I ask if she likes cats.  "Of Course!" she answers, eyeing the moaning crate.

Sadly for her, this means I pop open the top and hand him off for a cuddle.  He is happy to cuddle with her.  She didn't put him in the torture machine.

He is pretty good about not getting his mess on himself, so although she is startled, she is not grossed out.  I ball up the trash bag while she tells him he is handsome and he head butts her face as a thank you.

As soon as the door closes to our waiting room, I let him investigate while I answer the questions for the tech.  He has forgiven me now that we 'in it together' in a foreign place, he sits next to me, rubbing his face on my leg and even reaches up to request I 'pick him up'.

Anyway... the tech leaves and in walks the vet.... Rudely the man roughs him up, takes his temperature, inspects his teeth and squeezes his little body all over.

Charles has lost... drum roll please: 6.5 pounds.

Over the last two years mind you, but this is amazing.  Shoot, I have been trying to get off the last eight pounds for a year without success.

Char and I are advised he is in incredibly good shape for his age and his teeth actually look really good.  Over all, he is a darn good looking healthy decade old (ish) cat (last part is my part but it's true.)

The vet leaves.  Char jumps down.  I reline the crate with the extra trash bag in my handbag and call him over.  He sits down and heavily sighs.

"It's time to go home buddy."

He sighs again, I wait.  Around the two minute mark of looking towards each other but not at each other he stands and stiffly walks over to me and into the crate.

The front desk is awash with dogs; a giant Dobie bellows hello, a pittie woofs, a huge boxer lungs for the crate cradled in my arms.

And I still have to pay....

A beseeching tortured cry erupts from the crate and I start to giggle.

The Owl Called my Name (Original Work)

  

'The Owl Carried Change'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

Work In Progress
Continued

Luna Rescinds

Home from work, I unlock and yank the sliding door open. Luna leans herself backwards while stretching her little nose forward, keeping her distance as she carefully gauges the outside temperature.

Little stinker. I woke up at 4am today to her bright eyes glowing in the dark. She rested her chin on the edge and poked me with that cold nose of hers’ as she squeaked her need to go potty.

I never turn down a potty request. No matter the hour, the conditions. Sets a bad precedence.

But I have also never been in the possession of a creature who may decide to rescind the request.

Seriously.

Anyway, this morning, she had sounded a bit desperate and I had fallen out of bed in my hurry to keep up with her scrambling feet...

Hard floors, speed and Luna makes for entertainment. Even at that hour I chuckled as she mis-judged and slid sideways into the couch. There are rugs all over the place to help her out but I think she avoids them on purpose... Because of her ‘sure footedness’, I beat her to the door.

As I opened it, I let in a blast of wet cold air and about a foot behind me, she stopped short as if she had run into a concrete wall. Dismay erupted from her vocal throat and she collapsed as if hit on the head with a coconut.

I stood there, half a sleep and befuddled... two seconds past... ten... "Luna!" I hissed, "Do you have to go potty!?"

"EEEEE...errrrgeeeee!" (translation: Yes!), her little self-replied and dramatically, she fell over on her side, her despair and conflict clearly apparent

"LUNA!" I whispered and shivered, "Go outside and go potty!!!!!"

"GggggggEEEEEEEAAAAAAuuuuuaaaaa!!!!" She answered, rolling over, paws flaying.

Really??

I made a move to grab and chuck her outside - when CHARLIE darted past both of us to make his escape. Tripping over the blur of his torpedo, I missed that diminutive little Luna who then danced away to the safety of the stairs.

............siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh.................

Oh for crying out loud.

Literally.

Charlie, within moments, realized the conditions of the great wild world he ‘belongs’ in… and began to ‘sing’ to me that he now needed a rescue.

The tune goes like this, “mmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMEEEAAAAOOOOOoooowwwwwwwwww!!!”

Unfortunately, due to the velocity of his departure, he was already under the stairs…. My shivering starts my giggling because Reader? I was wearing a t-shirt. Granted a long t-shirt but no shoes, no pants, “CHARLIE!” My loudest whisper yet, “C’mere!!!”

Gets better.

Luna and Charlie are forever in a ‘I will one up you’ game. Since Charlie is outside, as his song announced to her, clearly Luna now thought she should be outside too.

I am not the brightest star in the sky as it is. And at this hour, I certainly was not lit up enough to remember their ongoing competition and before I know it, out Luna goes too!

Which is what I had wanted… sort of…

Luna is so happy to see Charlie! Obviously, he went outside to play with her. Under the porch there is a scuffle of fur and cat/ dog speak when, in trying to avoid her ‘kisses’, he dashes out from the porch, across the lawn, through deep wet snow and then they both disappear into the dark.

I do the mature thing. I close the door to the rain and I go to the potty.

Returning, I consider leaving them both out for a bit. Scowling at the blurry clock over the stove (no contacts), I consider the current time (4:25am). My alarm does go off at 5:45am…

Fortunately, for both of them, my opinion of their survival possibilities outweighs my aggravation.

I open the door.

In bursts Luna. She shivers violently as I dry her off with her towel (It is kept nearby this time of year). As soon as I pull her sweater over her head, she tears off and up the stairs to go back to bed.

Nerd.

Where is the other one?

“Charlie!!!?” He is no where to be seen. I squint into the rain….nope. No where.

Toast. Burnt toast.

Resigned, I turn to go get my boots from the laundry room, leaving the door open. As I stoop to pull them on he magically appears sitting next to me.

Soaked to the bone, eyes and ears flattened, he does not shiver… he is too outraged.  Considering the blazing fury in his eyes, I think maybe he thinks I made it rain....

I pick him up with a different towel, no need to hurt his feelings more with an already dampened one, and sit on the couch to cuddle and dry my little monster. He isn’t exactly a young cat anymore and he accepts my attentions with an attitude of indulgence. When he is completely dry, I drop him on his bed.

Sitting on the couch again, opposite of him, I watch the sleet turn to snow and grin. Since my alarm goes off soon-ish, I have a stolen extra twenty minutes to do what ever I want to do and I hurry off to get my pens and paper out.

PS Luna's first snow (11/2015) This was the video I took after a lot of treats and coaxing

Escalante Magic (Original Work)

'Escalante Magic'

12" X 36" X 1.5"
(Acrylic, Soft Oil Pastel)

Details

In search of Wonder

The moment we are born we are enraptured, blinking blearily at the wonder of light and sound and color. The touch of cold startles you into your first cry, the first protest. Then as you are swaddled into a cuddle; your first encounter of warm of human comfort brings you your first relief. 

I dreamed I held you.

I dreamed he held you, the person I treasure above all. I watched both of you in wonder and I cried and I laughed. I am a woman after all, and my emotions fall as rain falls from heavy clouds.

After all, isn’t that what all of this is for?

Our search for wonder, our quest for magic. The journey to enchantments. Sitting on this train of life, as each moment flickers past … I stand here, my hand on my sun lit window and smile at the statue before me.

I woke up, startled by my alarm. Smiling at my silliness, I reached out to softly touch my man’s sleeping shoulder, willing the light in my fingers into his soul.

And then I turned over and found my friend with floppy ears and glinting eyes asking if I was all right and kissing the inane moisture in my eyes. In answer, I kissed her little face.

The Three Dreams

I miss Jared terribly.

That just gave me my best grin so far today.

I haven't seen Jared in years.

During a tumultuously time in my early twenties, my Grandmother made and sent me an elf. I bought an appropriately sized chair, messily painted it with colors that didn't match and gave him a palm sized teddy bear (also made by my maternal grandparent) to hold. I named my elf Jared.

My Grandma knew why, of course and approved. Today Jared sits upstairs in the office/ art/ imagination land room.

It has been a decent consolation for the old friendship.

Jared was there for The Three Dreams that are the waypoints for my life. This set of coordinates anchors me to myself. If you ever heard an asterisk in a conversation, where it sounds like I wandered off a little, it is because I am looking up a footnote reference to these Three Dreams.

As a child, Jared, my imaginary friend, met me the moment I drifted away to sleep. In the land of my imagination I investigated and discovered treasures, dove with dolphins, conquered worlds, flew in clouds and danced with trees; always with my tolerant friend in tow.

As my dreams have always morphed into metaphors, I relied on my friend to help me understand.

I was very young when I had The First Dream about a statue on the mountain. This dream may have only come this one time but I think about it often. Just as I re-read a couple of worn out favorite books, I curl up with this dream, a cup of coffee and re-open my dog-eared copy, flip to certain pages and remember it and the dog. In my Dust and Dog post, I share it exactly as I dreamt it.

Interestingly, to me at least, is the role of the canine before I fell asleep and when I woke up. That creature played as critical a part as the dream and the two are the corner stones of how I see myself, my beliefs and how I see and treat all living things.

The Second Dream began when I was twelve. In the beginning it was about the shape and form of the window and I spent many a night keeping my distance. The walls to the smallish room, behind and beside me, are simple and blank. No doors. At the time, outside of my friend, the room is completely empty. With Jared's encouragement and support, I would approach my window and begin to hear, and then see, what was outside.

As I say Unhappiness and Georgia, this dream has returned many times. I know it so well I could swear the dream is an actual place. It never changes, even as I do.

It is a strange, to hold up my hands and check them for clues. To see my reflection in the glass and know I am not the girl, not the teen, not the young woman but an adult, returning once again. And every time I look to see if Jared is still there and every time he isn't, I swallow the lump in my throat as I stand alone and listen.

Sometimes when I see this dream starting, the flood of my resignation overwhelms me. I have sulked in the back and ignored my window, hoping the dream change and give me something else for the night.

On occasion it does but I know the next night will start with it. And the next. And the next. It will keep re-starting until I go to my window. Many many of my insomnia nights can be attributed to my stubborn refusal to face my window, to listen and look.

I think this dream returns when I need a reminder to be kind, to myself and to you. To accept that sometimes I cannot accept and maybe you cannot either. The hardest part? That neither of us is Wrong or Right. That there are only consequences.

It is such a contradictory thing to try to learn.

The Last Dream came gradually and in pieces. The first piece came when I was fifteen. Another arrived during a black out after being hit by a car. The last part came just after I turned twenty.

Once I had all of The Last Dream, it played out in it's entirety, beginning to end. All of the pieces joined in symphony, cresting as I opened my eyes, looked out of a sliding glass door and locked eyes with a fawn. It never returned.

Most of this dream has already tied into my life (Or perhaps I have tied life into the dream). I consider it a road map and in the end I believe all of it will happen. And since I dream in metaphors, I must be careful to not use it to make choices but instead use it for clues, not facts. But sometimes, something is not a metaphor and I catch my breath in the moment of recognition.

I never wrote the whole dream down. I have shared parts of it, such as the car accident posted here. But most of it I hold closely. I have this superstition that writing things down makes them real. I believe this so strongly that it doesn't matter how rational an argument is against it. If I write it, I will bring it to life.

In the first dream, Jared was my protector, he was a big brother and watcher. In the second, he was my guide and teacher. In the last, Jared was my companion and friend and unable to do anything more, or less, than offer support through presence.

This is laughable and weird but I confess it anyway. I believe Jared is real. And no, I do not worry about defining what ‘real’ means. To define Jared is impossible and unnecessary. You may try to define your own faith by putting it into neat little boxes. Or maybe you are like me and you do not.

Either way, truth is relative. If a person really believes their religion has the monopoly on God, then it doesn't matter that another person really believes their totally different religion has the monopoly. In the end, there is only one way for peace.

We all must accept when another cannot accept and live on.

I hope this confession has given you some vulnerability. We are all a little crazy, a little strange and nearly all of us ask, "Am I the only one who is a little crazy and little strange And am I all alone?".

The answer from The Three Dreams is no you are not and yet in the end, we all are.

A Portrait of my Cat

Charlie almost caused both of our deaths this morning. 

I was at the counter, filling my three (don't judge) to go coffee mugs with lovely fragrant coffee...mmmm.... coffee to see me through the long journey to my far away place of employment.... happily inhaling as I screwed the last lid on, I turned, He was Right There. 

Big gluey eyes stared up and asked "Why??" 

I tried to step over at the last split second. Sadly, both coffee and I went flying and I landed on my bum next to him.

He had not moved a hair as I had swung violently about to prevent myself from squashing him.

He eyed me.  I glowered at him.

I swear I could hear his inner monologue, "What the hell was that all about? I was just sitting here." 

In all fairness, he was likely 'petting' me with his tail to let me know he had taken up silent residency a quarter of an inch behind my unknowing self. 

This has long been both my heads up and AM greeting of  'Hey human, Good morning, gimme a hug"  ...but as I was wearing a skirt today... I didn't feel it. 

Luna arrived to ask 'What is all the noise about?'  Her sweet face sleepy (Luna doesn't 'do' mornings, seriously, photo below taken after trying to get her up with a treat as a bribe) and her ears pinned back with her anxious question.

Charlie took this as his cue to run (waddle) to her bowl to steal whatever she may not have finished.  He made it about half way before her scrambling toes followed to herd him off of her breakfast.

I got up and cleaned up the perfect coffee now perfectly ruined.  As I finished I turned back to see that cat sitting serenely on the counter (where he does not belong -ever). 

  

Luna below before 8am....