News

Once I drew in this couch, I just had to finish it. Then the cat page.

Then just a few shoes.

I only draw in the early mornings while watching the news. But the news here has been so compelling that I am drawing more. Also could be drinking more. I reached into a wine bag our son brought down at Christmas time and this one came out! Perfect match for my new way of drawing.

The bottle has led to the next set of pages.

The couch drawing suddenly brought Edward Gorey to mind. I am going to look up more of his drawings. It was all the parallel lines that made me think of him, not the heavy black marks. Like the whiskey glass above and the Yum Rum bottle seem more Gorey-ish.

I have done more writing about Ellie. And today we get the first of two Covid vaccines. We will remain on tinder hooks while the next eight days of this administration stays in power. Stomachs are clenched and revulsion arises every time I have to go through Brasstown and see the disgusting display of Trump signs plastered around a corner gas station that fewer and fewer cars seem to be parked near.

All for now…til later.

This came yesterday from my son! Perfect timing and a mate to the first Trumpty Dumpty book that Gwen Diehn sent me earlier. We are in for a rough ride with that many crazies in our country and the massive amount of enablers in Congress and security staff.  Quite an eye opener for ourselves and the world.

This fat fellow was outside the den this morning enjoying a newly found nut and watching the news with me.

The last few days I have been obsessively working on the clothes page.

This is so much fun! My pen ran out of ink so I went down to the studio to hunt for more and found a half dozen that I hid in the back of a drawer because they were getting hard to come by. It is a pen that Gwen Diehn and I decided years ago was the best for pen sketching….a pilot V ball…..05.

So armed with all six to bring upstairs, I could not resist turning the page and drawing in the new subjects…my couch, pillows, cloth scraps bag, lamp, and the long stitched piece I made about travels in Australia that I had framed when finished. The next page has Patches by a window with sun shining.

This going to be so much fun. This is as addictive as eating peanuts! And I am getting more confident in doing the drawings with no hesitation.

My need for writing seems to be more satisfied with working on poetry and short stories. I received the new black inks yesterday and have laid out the pages with the new tether lines in Microsoft Publisher. Next step is make perfect copies for the printer to follow up with in making twenty copies of the book. Hopefully he can use some of my papers from my stash when I printed my own books…poetry paper has to feel right.

Here is an excerpt from the first short story I am working on about old Ellie in the kitchen.

Title: What Would Jesus Do?

She turned on the kitchen tap to clean the morning’s harvest of six potatoes, four carrots, two bird-pecked tomatoes and one large onion when she heard the preacher on the radio ask, “What would Jesus do?” Stupid question, Ellie thought, he’d do what he always does, the right thing. These preachers always tossed out two options for Jesus while addressing a congregation of people Ellie thought might be a bit dense to even waste time deliberating on an answer. One option was nasty, mean, thoughtless, and the other was kind, forgiving, tender. Of course Jesus was going to go for the latter. He had years of practice and did not need those who had to think about it advising him. Why didn’t those preachers use their Jesus connections to find out something useful?

“Is the neighbor’s dog ever going to stop barking?”

“Would you get a knee or hip replacement?”

“You had a way with water. Do you have any idea how to elevate these vegetables beyond soup?”

That’s a few paragraphs down from the start of Ellie’s story where she is standing over the sink and waiting for her gospel music hour to come on the radio. Here is a bit from that part:

When Gerald died one of the first things Ellie did was turn the radio dial off his right wing talk show in search of anything else and stopped when she heard the deep tone of Mahalia Jackson singing, “Take My Hand Precious Lord”. Hearing that took Ellie all the way back to little white dresses, shiny shoes and her dearly loved Louise. They were bittersweet memories of a childhood bereft of any affection beyond what their housekeeper bestowed on her. Every afternoon on her break Louise would push her way into the front porch rocker and hold out her arms. Ellie would scramble up past rolled stockings to a generous lap of folds and flowers. As the chair rocked slowly back and forth she would tell Louise all about her day, making it up as she went and keeping her ear close to Louise’s chest to hear the rumbles of suppressed laughter deep within. After twenty minutes or so, Louise would lift Ellie down, grab her little hands and say, “Pull!” Ellie went back to her swing, Louise into the house to start dinner.

Anyway, my daughter tells me that a short story is between 5,000 and 10,000 words. I am just under 1500 so far. 5,000 is likely to be more where I end up with each story in a book titled, Kitchen Stories.

Once I get Ellie sorted out and on her way, what about a young gay guy who is found doing yoga in his kitchen while the coffee brews? It’s my book, my stories, so why not? Now that I actually put that down on the page, I can sort of see him…slight form, dressed only in his PJ bottoms, blonde hair and a tattoo he is wishing wasn’t there. He is going to have to hold that Warrior pose til I get back to him.

Okay, better get back to it.

Til later.

Lee went back to stacking his rocks the day after Patrick left. He did not ask to go to the shop nor did he ask where Patrick was. He just fell back into the safety of his usual routine. A relief for the caregiver and myself.

We enjoyed Patrick’s stay and did our holiday tradition of remembering our dear friend Pacia who lived to be almost 100 years old and was a major part of our lives as the kids grew up. She was one of the first we thought of when Patrick and I decided to open the Spirits Bar that I wrote a book about. You might remember, it was about how you can have another drink with departed friends by just opening the bar back up. In the book a page is devoted to a person’s memory with the recipe of their favorite drink. Every Christmas because all five of us miss her very much we have a Pacia Night at the cocktail hour. I had Fresca left from last year and some horribly cheap whiskey just for the occasion.

Pacia always had this drink of 1/3 whiskey to 2/3 Fresca with ice cubes served in Jefferson cups, those pewter short bowl shaped glasses that keep a drink quite cold. A couple years ago Patrick found me a set of those cups and we use them only on Pacia Night. Anyway, Patrick made the popcorn just like Pacia always did at cocktail time. She believed one should not drink without something to snack on and she like me was most satisfied with fresh popped corn.

We love it when Pacia comes back this way. She and several other missed ones are in that book with their favorite drinks. We miss them all but Pacia is the only one to get a special night of remembrance while we all sip away and recall the fun times with her.

Someone asked me once if when they died I would open the bar to them. “Simply put,” I said, “if I did not like sharing a drink with you in this life, I probably wouldn’t in the next.” But others that I miss have also left too soon and I think they should come back and share some time in the Spirits Bar. So I will let a couple more pass, then turn the original book into a dos a dos book. Which fits rather nicely into the idea of coming and going in our bar. Here is the original book.

I chose a dark green book cloth because that was the color of the famous Waldorf Astoria Bar Book.

And if there really is a hereafter, and I happen to get there with them, I expect to be greeted with a nice single malt scotch.

Also while Patrick was here I finished the fox.

Now all there is to do is the bat and I can look for another stitching project.

And instead of the drawing a day with haiku, I have been searching a direction in the new sketchbook. I could not leave that poor avocado cat alone. It needed black pen which opened a whole idea of trying to control where marks go without an eraser.

And then by this morning I felt ready to just draw with the pen loosely. In this book I can have control like in the Klimt like markings that are there just to fill very small sections at a time, or just draw outlines of things quickly. I have worked on this every day since I finished the graphite haiku books.

I finally get the meditation of those who work on zen tangle books and designs. Just fill small spaces with marks and move on to another section.

Now as for the Tether Line book. I am going to make another tether line, smaller with more tension in places. The font has changed to Garamond and no italics. Because my printer can be moody and splurty with its ink, I am going to make perfect copies of each of the twelve pages, both sides, making twenty four in total and take them to a printer to print off. I can do the cutting, folding and binding myself. Now I just wait for the new black inks to arrive.

And speaking of arriving by mail, my daughter’s cookies went from Detroit to West Virginia to South Carolina in almost two weeks now, but not here. Also not here are some lovely cheeses our friend sent priority with a guarantee of three day delivery. We have a despicable Post Master General who wanted to do the president’s bidding by slowing mail in ballots but totally gummed up the holiday mail in the process. Thank heavens decency is about to be restored in Washington and major changes can be made to fix the mess.

Now back to writing.

Til later….