Blog

This image of crows I carved from a stamping material over twenty years ago still pleases me. And here they are on the ground under a Eucalypt tree with clothesline attached. And on the line are hung the ragged bits of cloth that cover nothing. On the ground between them are tiny flecks of gold that are more important than scraps of clothing that no longer cover who we are.

I am tired of talking to myself. Tired of the horrendous state of politics in this country. Tired of wishing people were willing to think for themselves. Tired of fluctuations in the weather. Tired of eating a handful of peanuts hoping it is adequate protein. Tired of ………

So….instead of using this blog to just whine about what has very little in the way of solutions, today I will post a recent short story. Then I will retreat into that private place where words come to me … words I can read aloud to the me kept waiting to hear them … all written down on legal pads of yellow paper with blue lines stacked up in front of me.

 

The Neighbor                  S. Webster

I watch her. She has pulled her car back into the garage. The door drops down behind her. Whatever she carries into the kitchen from there is hidden from view. So, let’s guess.

One large bag of dog food. The barking when I go to get my mail suggests there are two dogs – both nervous and protective.

Fresh produce – celery, carrots, potatoes, onions. Not leeks or fresh spinach – not on her budget. The neighbor only wants enough to make a soup of what meat she hasn’t eaten the last few days.

Eggs and a half gallon of milk. Combined these two can make an omelet or turn stale bread into French toast.

Flour and sugar. She might want to bake something in case company drops in.

One of her sons will come by to check on her. Make sure she is still okay to stay by herself and not have to be packed up and taken home to stay with him or his brother.

Yes, she’s fine. No need to think about adjustments that would have to be made. But it may be a good idea to pick up a walker if one comes up at a garage sale. Best to be prepared. I’m sure that is what goes through the minds of her sons.

They never stay long – about an hour. Somewhere it must be written that one hour is enough to show you’ve done what’s proper. In that hour a son can give a quick hug in greeting, ask how she and the dogs are getting on, etc. And mom can make coffee, set out a plate of cookies and answer enough questions in the way they need to be answered.

She practices her responses and often inserts a small fictional account of an encounter with her caring and supportive neighbors.

Each are saved from having to think of how all her knick-knacks would have to be packed off to flea markets or Goodwill. God knows there is no place in their homes for all her treasures. Or so they tell themselves.

The son visiting now has avoided telling his mother that his wife left several months ago. The subject never comes up. His mother never liked his wife and the feeling was mutual.

And before you know it, the hour is up and assessments have been made. She’s good enough to stay by herself. A quick hug on the way out the door and as soon as the car is out of the driveway, he can call his brother, give a report and remind him that he is up next.

Lovely.

I watch him pull away with the phone to his ear and I wonder if she had time to bake cookies.

She has followed him out to the mailbox and returns with the paper.

So, then what does she do? Back inside behind closed curtains and a shut door?

I’m pretty sure she makes herself a cup of tea and sits down at the kitchen table to think. Think about the chores she finished doing earlier before her boy came by. Whether there is anything else that needs doing today. Oh yes, fold the clothes that have finished drying.

But first she picks up the weekly paper to read the news. Skip the front page of accidents and arrests and turn to the letters to the editor, then finish with the obituaries. Although a name seems familiar, the photo is of a much younger woman. She notices the men who have passed on look like they could go soon, but surviving family tend to find a better (and younger) picture of mothers and grandmothers.

As she pulls clothes from the dryer, each one is held out at arm’s length. If no noticeable spots, then fold in half, press down with one hand and fold over again to fit in a drawer or drape over a hanger. And if there are still spots (usually grease from salad dressings splashed down the front) then get the dish detergent and rub some in. Wipe off with a wet sponge and figure, when dry, the spots are faded enough to get by.

I know she does this because we all do it. Why toss it back in the hamper to wait another week to be washed again? We will want that shirt before the week is up.

And it’s a good thing there is another week to go before the bed is stripped and sheets washed, dried and put back on the bed. Yes, it’s lovely to sleep on clean crisp sheets, but wrestling fitted corners over heavy mattresses is not worth stripping the bed every single week.

Next, she will fill the dog dishes and give them time to scarf it down before finding the leashes and taking them for a walk. Making sure plastic bags are stuffed in her pockets before setting out.

This would be my time to visit with her, but I can’t stand dogs. Drooling, barking, over-zealous creatures! Is the companionship really worth all the commotion they cause? I don’t think anyone here in this closed-in neighborhood needs them for protection. I’d be more concerned they might misread a neighbor’s slow stumbling movements as a threat in some way and take a bite to get them moving.

I did have a dog once. When my father decided to move us from the north down to Florida, he told us we’d have to find a home for the dog. “Dogs don’t survive the heat down there. Too much hair and they die within a few weeks. Better to say goodbye and find a home here where he has a chance.” Same thing about my bike. “No room on the roads for bikes down there.” I hated that state long before I arrived to find even more reasons to wish I’d given myself away to the kind people who took my bike and dog.

There she goes. Dogs pulling at their leashes off to the right. Why is it even dogs know that when you enter a different space, you always turn right?

Should I go out my door across the street and also turn right? That way we’d be going in opposite directions when we meet halfway around the block. I could say a brief hello before her dogs give me a sniff, realize I am just another harmless old one and race past. Why not? It’s better than being rude and ignoring her. It would be a brief encounter. It’s not like she’d be inviting me over for tea. People don’t do that when they are going in opposite directions and being pulled along by dogs.

I slip out the door and turn right, passing one house after another. Each attempting to distinguish itself with different yard ornaments. Pink flamingoes signal the end of this side, and I turn right, past two more houses before right again.

There she is. Paused in front of a house while her dogs sniff and mark a small chain-sawed bear.

I make the quick decision to not talk to her. Just smile, nod and cross the road to avoid her dogs. Then hurry home to shut myself in before she turns the corner pulling her dogs past flamingoes.

In a few days when my daughter comes by to make her assessments on whether I should stay here, I will tell her what a nice visit I had with the neighbor.

the end

This story made me smile….

Til later….

 

I baked some more phyllo, ham, cheese and green onion packets to have in the freezer when tired of cooking something for one or eating out. They are quite delicious!

The sunroom is finished and is quite cozy on sunny days. A friend came over and hung the fish back up. I did not see it as a good idea to put them outside after a night of heavy winds. So I gave them a wash and waited for help. All the black shades I bought for the porch are going to a neighbor for her sun room and she will be taking me to our favorite restaurant as payment.

This week was a bit painful because I might have strained a rib in a coughing spell. My doctor is keeping a close eye on me…even took me over to her office to have blood taken. Seems I am all good there and in oxygen levels, and heart beats, etc. Just a hard time moving the right arm in certain positions. I think I am getting better each day, but after eighty, nothing is as quick as I would like.

Spring should be right around the corner and I am looking forward to some yard tidy up. Probably will remove the split bamboo poles at the front of the house. The one acting as a spout into the pond in the back is dried out and now badly split. So it could be replaced with a piece of those at the front entry.

Yesterday my first local came by to pick up sets of political postcards. I gave permission for an escort into a woman’s clinic in Michigan to use the design of the  trump/wrong one to be made into stickers and buttons. Another thousand of that image on postcards came Friday. I will need to sort them into sets of fifty to mail out to those asking for them.

There is not any more news from here right now. As soon as my doctor checks on me today, I might just have a lie down with my audiobook. It is a dreary day and I need to write an email to friends in Australia who will be gathering soon for the textile conference. I miss being there with them but I am better off being here close to those keeping an eye on me.

The cleaning lady had to cancel this week. Told her I would see her next month. It is an easy place to keep clean. I also need to write some poetry this week if I plan on going to the reading on Thursday.

So I had better get busy…..

Til later….

Just sitting in the late afternoon sun drinking a simple white wine and listening to yet another Elizabeth George novel. I love how the light came through the base of the wine glass. The cats sit in the window and put nose prints on the glass while waiting for me to get up and mention something about treats.

The sunroom, formerly porch,  is finished but I will save that for later after a friend returns to help bring the furniture back in and clean off the windows. So many stickers on new windows. I might not hang the six fish back in there. But instead put them outside. If I have a get together and five people can sit out there, no need to have them knock themselves out on those glass fish with rocks for anchors.

This time of day I am more tired and look forward to dinner and bed with the Dr. Blake mysteries. I like that it is filmed in Ballarat with all those gingerbread storefronts and vast flat lands outside of town. I would love to pop back into the pub there and have a dark beer. But the memories of that are enough now….and that lovely flea market outside of town where I bought my favorite oil can…a heavy low silver-colored can with brass bits attached. The fellow who took me there asked, “Don’t you have oil cans in the states?”….”Yes, but not like this!”

I have missed seeing political art works. It seems the time is so right for that now. And I can only stay quiet so long. The early nineties and four years of making work about the victims of Sarajevo, then on to the invasion of Iraq under the guise of “weapons of mass destruction”, which led to even more anti war work. Next we had that blessed eight years of Barack Obama. But while he was running for office his placards were trampled in my neighborhood. I rescued one to cut into pieces to make a small artist book. After that we were stuck in four years of a vile, bigoted swing that was welcomed into the Republican party with open arms. When that blessedly ended, there was the mending of a country suffering the ravages of Covid…and a very decent human being calming us down. I did art work to stay connected during the worst of all those years. One of my favorite was the Cultural Exchange board game where different cultures actually wanted to experience the lives of those at the opposite end and try on their shoes. When the two cultures needed an arbiter to settle stepped on toes, the Jimmy was sent in…named for the late Jimmy Carter. I will put a collection of images below this paragraph. What work I did not save for myself after it was documented and often exhibited, I buried.

 

None of this work was ever made for the market. It was my way of coping and expressing myself on the situations at the time. I thought it was what all artists did…take a stand visually against the wrongness of things. I had more company in the George W days than now in this impossibly difficult period in our history. So this weekend I had my own installation in the garage, complete with artist statement and a private drink for myself/by myself.

This is likely the last of my political artworks.

Til later with images of a very fine sunroom to think about things done with determination and passion.

 

My check out nurse just left. I am now cleared to handle my own recovery without constant checking from the Home Health Care services. It feels good to know I can be trusted to do that! All numbers emanating from their equipment are in the perfect range.

It is such a beautiful day, I might treat myself to a longer walk about the neighborhood.

The remodeling fellows have needed to take the past two days to fix damages on a house with broken pipes. So this is where they left off. White trim inside and outside to finish off. Next tile and put everything back where it goes.

It is going to be a cozy place for coffee and a nice back and forth in the rocking chair. I probably will not hang the fish back up in that room…could knock out a visitor with their rocks attached. So likely will hang a school of them from the pergola.

I did more stitching on the small panel and am willing to call it over. Just need to tack it down to the gauzy back panel and then figure out what to do with it.

And the past two weeks have been absorbed with printing postcards to send in bundles around the country. I am very grateful for the requests from Minnesota, Utah, California, Washington State, Michigan, Tennessee, Georgia, Missouri,  Illinois, Arizona and finally from my own state of North Carolina via a small book club type group who heard about my efforts and asked to have some mailed out to them. It was reaffirming to see that order come from a very small town in the center of the state with probably a majority of MAGA residents. And still no one locally has asked for any.

I designed a new one with Musk controlling trump and the republicans. There was a small swastika arm band that the printer drew the line at and asked me to redesign the image. I replaced it with a non descript band but added a Hitler mustache. My image has been approved now and I wait for the order of 500 to show up at the door.

This week I received another amazing linoleum print from Patsy in Australia. This time rabbits! When I can get back into the cupboards in the garage that now have porch furniture piled in front of, I will frame it and find the perfect place to hang it. For now it is on the mantel.

I did have a visitor come this past Thursday. Judy Zugish from the Seattle area comes once a year in February to teach basketry at the folk school. She makes a point to get to my house to share a scotch and a meal. We have known each other since the 80s and can easily pick up where we left off. Judy will be part of the National Basket Conference this September in Tasmania and would be open to teaching in other venues while in the country. I am thinking of Toni Rogers place in Queensland as a possibility since few from that far north will be heading to Tasmania. If you are reading this Tony, I can send you her contact information.

I was getting 8,000 steps in each day before my lung operation. Now after just five weeks of recovery, I am able to do almost 4,000. Going to the gym seems a bit silly as all I can do is the bike or treadmill to get steps. No weight lifting allowed just yet. So I might as well stay home and get my steps in here and not have to explain my absence to those who were used to seeing me there at six-thirty a.m. three days a week.

Not much else new going on here. But I did have an idea to do a political art installation. Since I see so little of it nowadays, remember the George W era where most artists needed to make a statement? Well, since there is so little interest in doing that type of work now, I decided to make my own private installation in my garage, have my own opening reception…attended by myself alone. Then I will stand around, drink some wine and document the exhibition. I rather like the idea of it being totally private. Someone told me that if I wanted to see political work to just go on youtube. It is not the same thing as being confronted in person. So I will let you know how it all works out. A completely solo show in the planning stages now.

Til later….