friday mornings with the Bonsai Master...

yeah baaaby yeah...

check out my new ride...



oooh yeah, ain't she sweeeet...



I feel so sexxxy in my new mini van! I think I'll fill it up with babies.



uh-em... and there she is! baby #1 is making herself at home.
... ain't she sexxxy too!

yeah... we love our new mini van. (god help us). i feel so cool i can hardly stand it. oooh yeah...chic-a-chic-a-boom-boom!

note to self:

charcoal drawing. overexposed anu. large paper.

At age 30:

• Mark Twain published his first short story, "Jim Smiley and His Jumping Frog."
• Danish novelist Hans Christian Andersen published his book of fairy tales.
• Nat Turner led a slave rebellion.
• U.S. mariner Moses Rogers made the first ocean steamboat voyage.
• Donald Trump persuaded bankers to lend him $80 million so he could buy the Commodore Hotel.
• Samuel Morse's assistant, Alfred Lewis Vail, devised Morse code.
• Physicist Armand H. L. Fizeau measured the speed of light.
• Dr. Narinder Kapany invented fiber optics and designed a glass gastroscope which can be snaked down the throat for a detailed view of the stomach.
• Hank Williams overdosed on drugs and alcohol.
• Bill Gates was the first person ever to become a billionaire by age 30.
• Earl Vickers started the Dollar Project, in which dollar bills were rubber-stamped as being lost, with a reward offered for their safe return.

I find myself most interested in Mark Twain, Hans Christian Andersen, and Hank Williams.

Maybe there's still hope afterall.

offer #2

We got another offer on the house today. That is what we were hoping for, but now that it's happened I think it's safe to say that it's all still a gamble. The first offer was from a girl that reminds me of myself and the second from a couple who have been looking for the last 3 years. By accepting an offer from couple #2, girl #1 has only 72 hours to come up with the financing. If she can't, then couple #2 gets it. But if their financing falls through they can still back out. If that happens we can start from scratch with girl #1, but who knows if she will still want it.

I like girl #1. I want her to live here. And I hope she knows that. But when it comes down to it, V. and I are in a bind. We need something to happen sooner than later. We need to sell. The sad part is that this selling of a house is a very impersonal thing. I want to give girl #1 a call and wish her luck and hope she hears the sincerity in my voice. As for couple #2... well, I just want whoever lives here next to be happy-- happy in love, happy in life. All of it. I want these walls to continue to be filled with love.

As for the rental, it looks like we're in competition with another group.

And so now something is happening...what is the question. I just want to know two things: 1) when is this going to happen? and 2) where will we be when it does??

oh, the world feels big and uncertain. One day, when I was walking down the driveway with girl #1, she looked at me and said, "It must be amazing not knowing where you're going next, knowing that you have so many options, so much freedom." She's right. But damn, it's scary.

Ok...

... I've taken a nap. Now I feel like painting.

But I also feel like seeing my husband, at least briefly, before I go. And I feel like sleeping more. Or drinking coffee. Mostly I just want to go to the studio so I can listen to music. For some reason, the night time acoustics are especially nice in there. Maybe it's the streetlights, the age of the building, or the fact that I'm there alone. I don't know.

But it's calling me.

I feel...

...like this is a lame blog title.
...like what comes out of my mouth sounds too harsh.
...brittle on the edges.
...like I'm not "a writer."
...like I don't know what I'm doing.
...like I'm too hard on myself.
...like going for a walk, but it's cold, wet, and raining.
...like drinking hot chocolate.
...like crying.
...like giving up.
...like starting over.
...like shit.

Maybe I need more vitamin B complex.

Or something.

After a trip to Fargo...

...my head is filled with deep yellows, rust, blue-grays, and greens. I try to hold the images of a shifting landscape in my mind long enough to get it onto canvas. But I know it's impossible--there's just too much.

Time moves quickly and steals the seasons. I want to paint outdoors because neither memory or photos can capture those subtle nuances of color. Perhaps I'll dedicate this week to words and paint--the merging of two projects. I'll load up the car and leave (no worry, I'll return for classes). I have nothing to lose. Except yes, I have everything to lose. Life needs to start somewhere.

It's been a good day of painting when...

...you come home late with tired muscles and an energized mind. I think I may have just finished my first painting for the December show.

Feels good.

Day 11 broke my heart.

When you walk in the front door of the Uptown Cafe, at the end of the ledge, there is a stack of New York Times. Yesterday morning, while looking through them, I saw an image from the Katrina aftermath that affected me more than any other. Unfortunately I'm not able to post it, but the caption read, "Cherly Cook cried as she prepared to evactuate New Orleans and be separated from her dog, Trouble." The photograph, taken by Chang W. Lee of the New York Times, is of a middle aged woman bent with her arm around her dog's neck. A police officer stands in front of her telling her she must leave--without her dog. And the expression on the woman's face is of absolute pain. It is my face the day Abe died earlier this summer. The dog stands pressed against her leg-- a big, beautiful mix of brown and black. His fur is wet.

There was a week's worth of New York Times to look through while I waited for coffee, but it was that image that I kept returning to. I looked around for someone to show it to so I could say something like: "Can you imagine?!?." But really I didn't have words, only a welling of emotion for that woman and her dog... and all the women and their dogs...and for my dog. Because even the thought of leaving my own is enough to reduce me to tears.

I've been carrying that image around inside of me since. Day 12 (Saturday), the New York Times included images of dogs being rescued from New Orleans and being sent to Baton Rouge for treatment where they will also, hopefully, be reunited with their owners.

Today, while looking for more information on Cheryl Cook, I found that her story, in a way, has had a happy ending.


photo posted on www.post-gazette.com

Mona Reeder, The Dallas Morning News via AP
"Despite orders to vacate the city, Cheryl Cook says she won't leave her Desire Street home in the lower 9th Ward of New Orleans because she won't abandon her dog, Trouble, her two parakeets, Love and Joy, and her 10 fish. She said she sent her four children out of the area before the hurricane hit, but just couldn't leave her home and pets."

I wouldn't have left either.

I should NOT have looked at that house. Now I want it. But we're still waiting for our deal to go through. I won't sign a lease until all is legit. Therefore, stuck in limbo.

Ok, so some of you have no idea what I'm talking about. Tonight I looked at a rental. It would be perfect for Anu, perfect for us. A 6 foot high fenced in yard, a slab for the kennel, a garage, 2 extra writing rooms (perfect), hardwood floors, sunlight, good neighbors.

I'm a centimeter away from begging. Begging who? For what? I don't know. Just PLLLLEEEASSSE! Let life go on.

Do you love me Lady Luck?

YES! Records has finally added my arranged course. That means that I'll actually get a financial aid check tomorrow. Fingers crossed.

Now it's time to write. One stress is crossed off the list.

Today's sunrise:

6:40 am... and beautiful. Walked across campus listening to strange birds in the trees. Heading south.

the thin curtain is drawn down over the window. it has become dark in here. and still, only these insignificant posts. where did time go?

the best part was giving up to snuggle and wrestle with wolfie on the porch. she brings me happiness. i wish i had a whole kennel full of happiness.

I am exhausted from fighting with myself over writing. Exhausted.

But I drink another beautiful cup of coffee in a cup that looks like the bottom of a river and hope that something will change. God that sounds optimistic.

"What is this writing life?" ~Dillard.

Katrina

I wonder sometimes if we realize just how fragile life is. I still have not been able to watch television footage of what has happened and is happening in New Orleans. But I've been listening and reading. What I struggle with the most is not the violence of nature, but of humanity. I have a friend, Eric, who was living there. He's still unaccounted for.

Today I painted.

http://www.myspace.com/wasteyourlife

Lily Liver of the Orient...

...strikes again. India swallowed my liver. Therefore,

After 3 bottles of pinot grigio with a long-lost friend from Vegas (Calamity Kate) I will NEVER ever EVER drink the stuff again. Good god, what have I done to myself?

Waiting

The girl that I'm selling the house to is here with her realtor. They're hiking the 40 and beyond. I sit here waiting, not knowing what to do with myself.

It feels mean sending them out into the woods without guiding them to each perfect, secret spot. But I guess I need to remember-- these are her discoveries now.