The Best Costume For The Day

 From Grey Gardens - Little Edie Bouvier

The best costume is, I have decided, not having to even think about what one is going to do tomorrow. I've rarely actually done this. My family will tell you they are in the habit of asking me to "light." I'm trying to learn to just be with them and it's hard for me. If I'm not involved in something for the Montessori school, I'm doing housework or making jewelry or doing something. I do, and I do and I do till I drop at night. And when I go to bed I'm always planning the next day. But this year has been different in that I've made a conscious effort not to worry about the mess, or other things to catch up on. This has been my favorite part about this particular holiday. It was scary at first, but it's starting to feel pretty good.

My daughters and grandsons came over. We ate like there would be no tomorrow, we played games, we talked. The next day my youngest daughter Tess and I watched: "Crocosaurus vs. Mega Shark." What a spectacularly terrible film - I adore it now. Usually I'm a Mothra fan, but this film is so fabulous. Steve Erkel stars, all the science is wrong as if written by fourth grade boys. My favorite line: "Well then, you'd better bring those hydrosonic balls of yours." Excellent. We also watched "Love Actually" - light, romantic, funny, delightful. Then we made jewelry and left the house a mess. (Leaving the mess would have been unthinkable for me in the past.)

Today my friends Timmy and John dropped in - usually I would have been uncomfortable because of the messy house - but instead there was more eating and laughing and merry-making. And, thanks to these two sillies I now have a leopard coat from the props department of an old theater. I wore it out to do chicken work and Timmy photographed me with his new I Phone. It's not a mink, but I like to think I look like Little Edie Bouvier in it. I do need a turban though... So that's it, I think. Not thinking so much about what one HAS to do is the best outfit for the day. And tossing on a leopard coat is a perfect finish to happily relaxing...the cat's pajamas.

Winter Solstice

Beautiful winter solstice to all! In an effort to bring a little snow this way I'm posting one of my favorite winter poems by the late Stan Rice, who was a brilliant writer and painter - before his wife eclipsed him.

THE SNOWMEN GO TO SEA  -Stan Rice

The snowmen go to sea
In manly little boats.
The wind balloons the sails, The snowmen float

From emerald island to emerald island
With neither dread nor grief,
They drink hot chocolate
In shade of sails

And in the starlight sleep,
Starlight, oakum, creaking timber.
And on the storm the smell of mint,
Some are seasick

Others tender.
They bend to heave the bow about,
And their corncob pipes fall out,
And their carrot noses

Ride the swells,
And their coal eyes fall through coral.
Yet still they sail
Without fear or sorrow.

Then the calm. Their sails
Deflate. They laugh like carrion.
Their jaws cave in.
They wet the decks.

A little tragedy is knowledge
And knowledge of none is comic.
The snowmen know there is no craft
To reconstruct their crystal vomit

Nor fallen faceparts into masks,
Yet go to sea, to die on water,
Instead of on lawns as rotted clowns
In black top hats.

When I was looking for a melting snowman image I came across numerous melty snowmen sugar cooky designs. This one, I think is pretty cute. 

Two Butterballs in a Tub

I said that I'd explain my blatant nakedness with a turkey featured in my last post. Here goes...

Our family laughs all the time. My mother's family depended upon laughter to get them through winters where they dug frozen potatoes out of the ground with mittenless fingers in order to have a bit of supper. These were the children doing this task mind you. Despite hunger and poverty they sang often and laughed much. So I received part of my sense of humor from this stalwart group. My father also had a wicked sense of humor, and when I say, "wicked," I mean it. Unfortunately I absorbed some of his ornery ways, love the practical joke, and have had to apologize numerous times when I've gone into paroxysms of laughter over someone slipping on ice. You are supposed to ask if they are O.K. before you double over laughing. There are worse things that make me laugh inappropriately that I will not elaborate upon lest you judge me of ill character. I am working on being a better person, really I am, tee hee.

Two friends that have brought an enormous amount of joy and humor into our lives, Timmy and John, are kings of the practical joke, and have done more things to me than I can go into here. Really, it would take a book. Just one example here should do. One Christmas I came home to find that these boys had completely dismantled my Christmas tree and re-decorated it in a completely GOP theme. (I am a liberal and proud - surprised?) There were pictures of George Bush all over it, everything red, white and blue imaginable, including enough patriotic tinsel to decorate, oh, say ten trees. So thanks to them, that year I had a "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" Christmas tree. Just what I always wanted.

The turkey incident was just one of my little attempts to keep up with them and retaliate. They were coming for Thanksgiving, and both are just a bit fastidious about food. So I got this idea for a little movie that would gross them out. Disclaimer: I have a food service sanitation certificate so I do understand the proper way to thaw poultry and would never do this for real. I ran a tub of water, plopped a turkey in and started my film. It began with the faucet, then water running - pan to my razor on edge of tub, soap, other hygiene items - then slowly pan down to turkey. I sent the little movie to them saying that I couldn't wait to see them for dinner. Thankfully this got a good yuck, turkey went into refrigerator and all was normal - until next morning. Then it hit me. A brilliant idea if I do say so and I will. I said to my daughter Tess, "Wouldn't it be funny if we put the turkey back into the tub and it looked like it had been in there all this time and I was just taking a bath with it casually?" She didn't even blink, told me to soap up my vital parts and ran to get the bird and her phone. She snapped the pic and that was that. Rub a dub dub, two butterballs in a tub. Now does this all make perfect sense to you? I thought so.

The moral of the story is: Laugh. Laughing like fools has carried my family through some of life's mightiest storms. Laugh with friends and family, or just at yourself. I crack myself up several times a day. And I can still hear the distinct laughter of people that I've know that are no longer with us. Think about that. Our laughter might be creating a powerful and memorable impression for someone else. Can you hear someone too?

JOHNNY, TIMMY AND ME

(Geez, are those puka beads Timmy???)

Time Flies and Nude Bathing with Butterball

Thanksgiving, thesis, jewelry orders, teaching, sleepwalking and chicken herding have been keeping me whirling. I shall write an explanation about the nude photo of me in this post later when I have a second. Just know that it is ART not porno, and was done for comedic purposes. I've been busy. In short, I defended a thesis proposal, am ready to release an eductional survey online nationally, participated in a jewelry show, have taught children who say things like, "Gee you are such a gweat artist - I think you would win any art contest for older citizens," have done this on a wee amount of sleep as usual, and finally, rescued some chickens. Another story - later. For now, here are two photos for you. The first is entitled, "Nude Bathing with Butterball," and the second is one of my rescue chickens, 'Swizzlestick.' She is making her Zoolander face.

O.K. I lied more photos of a few new jewels.

And how about shooting me some comments folks?? I really love comments. It's lonely here at this very old computer without your input...

Jimmy Fallon "Morrison"

Thank goodness for comedians! This made me laugh before I hit play. Just his stance told me that Jimmy Fallon had nailed Jim Morrison. And the theme from Reading Rainbow? Too funny.

Making Rings and Male Anatomy - Worlds Colliding

Some of my jewelry friends will not make rings because they consider them to be too hard. To an extent this is true, because this little piece of art has to fit perfectly on a person's imperfectly shaped finger.  So why am I so attracted to making them?? I love the whole process, but the sizing part can be really tricky. Precious metal clays are pure metal in combination with an organic binder that burns off in firing. Therefore, as George Costanza used to say, "Significant Shrinkage."

And, to make matters worse, each material: bronze, silver, copper, etc., shrinks at a different rate. If that's not hard enough to deal with, here's the clincher: The piece also shrinks in response to placement in the kiln, size of piece, thickness, width...you get it. Like I said...tricky. There are some ways to get around this, and I've tried them. My favorite is the product called "Hatties Patties." (I like these so much that I named one of my hens after the designer - Hattie Sanderson. To make a ring Hattie tells us to make the ring two sizes larger than needed and insert one of her patties into the middle when firing. The metal shrinks to the patty and no further. When done you just drop the whole thing into a cup of water, and the patty dissolves like an alka-seltzer. I don't know what these things are made of, but you are not supposed to dump the solution down the sink. Hmmm. And then there is my pride. Something about using them makes me feel like I'm cheating. I keep thinking that real artisans don't have to use a crutch, that they can become one with the material and intuit its behavior. But the currently outrageous price of silver makes proper experimentation too costly. I'm working at learning though, and hope to eventually be patty-free!

The first rings I made for Heather and Fran were too small. The second ones worked out.

My friends love nature, so the choice of tree bark bands was perfect for them. The tree represents fidelity and fulfillment - what could be more perfect. I am now selling these bands, along with a few other fine silver rings, on my Etsy shop. They are a lovely gift for anyone, and the ideal 5th anniversary gift of wood-related symbol. 

Other rings: 

Tree knot with bark band, 6 mm laboratory gemstone CZ (I use lab stones for humanitarian and environmental reasons.)

Little Leaf on Vine Ring

My rings are handcrafted in fine silver, (pure silver) - as opposed to sterling, which contains base metal. Order one up, and I promise it will be perfect! Guaranteed.

On Clairvoyance, Age, & Unlikely Friendship

Clairvoyance runs through my mother's family. My late Aunt Gin and I have been the most recent clairvoyants that I know of, but there were always stories of others. Unfortunately, my aunt's unusual sensory perception was much the same as mine - not so good for important things, but fun and surprising to others, much like sleight of hand. As a child, I was really in tune with it, and could always win games with friends, especially at birthday parties. There I'd be, buzzed from eating all the roses off of everyone else's white lard cake, red mustachioed and Hawaiian punch drunk, with armfuls of prizes when my parents picked me up. I could always "see" the right number in my head, or draw the right straw, or card, or guess whatever was being hidden. As an adult I've lost my edge a bit, but I can still use intuition in certain arenas, horse races being a favorite. I don't indulge often, but I've done well on the rare occasion that I've placed a bet. For example, I picked the long shot Real Quiet some years back, pocketing a tidy sum and shocking my friend who attended the race and placed the bet for me. But clairvoyance is just a part of this story, not the whole story, and this story is true; I have witnesses.

I met a child named Heather about 25 years ago, when she used to show up at pick-up time to fetch her little brother Jake. (See more about Jacob Foran in my Favorite Artists at top of blog!) She had a "can-do" attitude as she lifted her brother onto her bicycle to ride up our hilly driveway toward their home. She was responsible for her brother at that time of day, and one could tell that she took her job seriously. A few years later, I met her again during the worst time of my life. My twelve year-old son Nick had died suddenly, and the cemetery was packed with mourners on a sunny August day. People were spontaneously saying a few words about Nick. To my surprise, this little girl stood and told a little, sweet story describing Nick at school. It gave me this beautiful little secret insight into my son's secret life with his friends at school, and the best thing was, it brought me the first chuckle I'd had for many days.

A few more years went by and I took leave from teaching and opened Cafe Cody. Guess who applied to be a barista? A sixteen year-old girl named Heather.

HEATHER MAKIN' PERFECT FOAMED MILK

HEATHER AND CODY PLUMP FROM A CINNAMON ROLL PER DAY

Photo Credit: Lindsey Fortney

As I've mentioned in a previous post, the cafe was just supposed to be a coffee shop. It evolved into something way beyond that, and before we knew it, we had a restaurant. Heather was with me all the way, a right-hand man. She and I could sync so well that we still laugh about times where we were so swamped, but the two of us could run that whole place by ourselves if we had to. She learned to waitress, cook and bake, and charm customers with her big smile. We had many regulars...the guys who had the same breakfast each and every morning, and hung their own coffee mugs in an old cabinet. We also had our usuals who came for fantastic espresso drinks that we made with our completely manual espresso machine - run shots 18 - 22 seconds every time! One of our favorites was Fran, a nature fellow of about my age. Heather called him her "Woodsy Guy." One day as she was preparing his latte, I sensed an energy, and when he left, I announced to the crew: "Someday Heather's gonna marry that guy." Well of course my group of teens fell apart, and Heather laughed the hardest and said, "Yeah right, someday I'll marry my Woodsy Guy." 

Time passed and eventually I closed the cafe because I couldn't handle the physical work load. It was a sad time. Heather had put herself through U of I working for me, and working a highway job at night. She received her anthropology degree and took off to trek the world. It seems she went everywhere, and did these things by herself. Hiking New Zealand, India, Thailand, Australia, and more places that I don't remember. She had many boyfriends as beautiful young girls do.

Heather and Gerardo one of Cafe Cody's cooks (not a boyfriend, but could I tell another story...)

Heather in an ice cave in New Zealand

When she returned from her travels, I was delighted to learn that she was seeking Montessori certification, and in a couple of years, we were working together again. One could not ask for a better employee or truly professional guide of young children. We have a ball together once again!

Heather is currently supplementing her Montessori education with Infant Toddler Training.

I need to make this long story short, but the title says something about age, so just a few words. Just one of my many criticisms of traditional education is the way children are lumped together by age. This just breeds a hotbed of competition, while they constantly rate themselves against others instead of acknowledging differences and helping others. There. Heather is my dear, dear, friend and she is decades younger than I am. Age doesn't matter! My father fell in love with my mother when he was 49 and she was 19 - you can bet they were the talk of the town! Age didn't matter to them either. Where am I going with this? A couple of weeks ago, Miss Heather and I did our usual Monday morning sharing of what we did over the weekend. I told her some boring stuff I did, and she replied with a smug grin, "Guess what I did this weekend?" I raised my eyebrows. "I married Fran Harty out in the woods!" 

TA DUM!!! Yay! When she called her sister to say they'd eloped, her sister reminded her of the time I predicted she'd marry him some day... Briefly, Fran, (Woodsy Guy) and Heather ran into each other a few years ago, became friends, became camping friends, and now they are husband and wife! I still get nice little goosebumps and tears thinking about how this all unfolded. Cool, huh?

MR. AND MRS. FRAN HARTY with children from Metamorphosis Montessori School, counting mussels on the Sangamon River. The Woodsy Guy is a naturalist with the Nature Conservancy.

CONGRATULATIONS FRAN AND HEATHER HARTY!

A small marriage keepsake that I made for Heather from rose bronze and original bronze. When Fran saw it he asked me to make their wedding rings. This is a tall order, a challenge, and an honor. I predict I can do it. We've come full circle.