this day...

the trouble with winter is that the days are far too short. the sun is down and gone. 6 o'clock and already black outside. and cold.

i painted today. i crocheted beanies for me and my sweetie. i made a great big dinner and played with my dog. and now with a full belly, i'm going to crawl back in to my fleece footie pajamas, crawl in to bed, and crawl further still in to my collection of little morbid fairy-tales and nursery rhymes.

did you know that on this day 29 years ago, john lennon was murdered? i was born 3 months and 5 days earlier, robbed from the start. and i send up my small prayer for yoko and his children- that their hearts are light and singing today, full of fond remembrances and hope.

good morning

i need to make myself a pair of mittens. the cold actually hurt me this morning when i went outside to write. in fact, i couldn't stay outside on my little stoop in front of the cottage for more than 5 minutes. and for that 5 minutes, i traded my cup of coffee back and forth between my two hands to warm them up and thaw the hurt. a hard winter has come. i knew it would. and if it's this cold at the beginning of december, january will be a horror.

yesterday after a good couple of hours painting, i rearranged the living room to use an entire wall for the maid portraits. i've got them all together and they look so beautiful. i'm seeing them with fresh eyes. even the problem child of the group (and there's always a problem child) is gorgeous and i can see the direction i must take her in. it feels good to be listening again. to work. it's the moment when i am truly myself. freedom. and love. and i wouldn't trade this job for any other. no amount of money or prestige or possession will ever seem as beautiful, as necessary as this work. nothing could lure me away. this is my life. and it's all i want.

so there!

the weatherman has been proven to be a charlatan and a liar. at least today. snow. thpbbb! right. lies. all lies! fantasy-land and LIES! and me with my hopes all up even though i know better. ha! the sky is bright and blue. the sun up and shining. the clouds are white and fluffy. it's cold cold cold but it looks like spring. and so i obeyed The Almighty Jog. inga, such a devote disciple, barked and rolled around when she realized her mama was un-resigning herself to a day spent holed up indoors. my paintings have been moved outside in to the fresh and true light. i will be good. i know that the time is here when i must make the most of my beautiful days. soon, they will be sparse and then, i'll be a hermit once again. a winter shut-in who waits on the mail-lady and drinks too much coffee and wears mittens all day long and reads fairy-tales while the rest of the world spins and spins out in the cold white day. not me. i've got big plans this winter. the best of which is to keep warm.

the impossible...

there are whisperings of a rare california snow...
the sky has gone completely white. i am anxious, excited as a child at the prospect of such a strange happening. but the rain from the great storm has not yet arrived, though both the weather channel and the neighbors assure me it will. and so i wait... coffee in hand, two pairs of socks on, and two sweaters. it is cold cold cold. and i may end up being reduced to a TV workout today. bouncing around hideously, embarrassingly, in the living room and inga wondering what the hell is going on. ha!

the vineyard feels so far away in this weather. remote and unwelcoming. or maybe it's the fact that, here, i have the heater going full blast and a notebook to day-dream in and a snoring dog that makes me smile. warm and safe and needless. i have christmas presents to make. a late start, for sure, but it's still possible to get them done in time. the weather might ensure that i have no other distraction, no other choice. ;)

windless.

first thing, i looked up to that little window to see if the big face of the moon would shine through but there was no moon this black morning. none. gone. only the strange black that sighs and goes blue. and for the first time in my life, i missed the moon. it is a thing i've never given much thought or time. i have never admired it or believed in it, never thought its pull extended to me. but this morning, i felt lonely without it and the early air seemed too still, too quiet. aching. windless.

but now the odd periwinkle is up and glittering. a veil. a fish belly. and inga snores in the big red chair. the traffic on the highway is thin. thursday already. the days are short and quick. they resist my desires and i have only so much time. and so i scribble scribble scribble to pin myself down, to build a little world with my own moving hand. my ink spilled- a world in black and white and the shade in between. beautiful, odd things. austere and shining and soft. tiny golden shimmers in the cracks and black apples falling falling falling...

yesterday on my vineyard run, i came to the place at the far edge where the dead river is, disappeared since summer, and three huge vultures were lined up on the stakes at the end of the vineyard aisles. a forth flapped soundlessly in a wide circle over head. there was no sound. no whisper. mute feathers. i wondered if i should be afraid. inga's ears and tail went up and she watched them. but the vultures just sat and stared with their backs to us. we passed by in our clumsy, bouncing stride and they never once paid us any mind at all. and on the way out, we detoured and ran down a wide aisle where the vines had not been cut down yet. tiny blue birds shot out from the rows, the same purpley blue of the grapes. flashing flashing in the hard light. sapphires, sparking and spinning.

winter has arrived.
it is full-blown.

all the morning

outside with my notebook and coffee this morning on my cold little stoop, the moon was white and full in the little window between the tall trees. i'd never seen it there in the morning before. the earth has spun now, i suppose, now that it is winter. and that morning moon was full and gleaming. bright white. a chill came down and my breath went white as well.

the roast is roasting. the coffee is brewed. and the smells made my dreams strange this morning while i was curled up waiting for my hazelnut. i drempt i was very fat. not in my face but as my eyes crept down the length of my body, my body got larger and larger and dimpled and puckered. the largeness of the moon reminded me with all its pits and pools. i was not afraid in my dream or angry or repulsed. i just looked at myself in the mirror and smiled at my naked reflection and then i woke up.

and then i sat and watched the moon dip down as i scribbled and scribbled in my new notebook. its window wide and open but she slipped low behind the black curtain of tangled branches and thin leaves and needles. edging down. bashful. guarded. the sky moved from indigo to prussian blue to my beloved and dusty cornflower and, now, the pale blue of certain dogs eyes.

most of the names i use for colors come from paint tubes and crayons.

and again last night, we curled up in bed, safe and silent and turned our pages. a soft moment shared. i read two more shorts in "The Bloody Chamber" and one from "Rose Red". sinister fairy-tales. adult, dark, and devoid of the 'happily ever afters'. there is blood and corrupt virgins, stealthy in their knowledge of men. and Alice runs and jumps inside my brain somewhere; playing games and arguing with herself, two people at once, pretending and dreaming and talking talking talking. such a chatter-box little girl. just like i was. just like i am. my first true sentence was, "mama, let me tell you something". and Alice is not at all embarrassed. i like that her favorite thing is to talk to herself. little quizzical day-dreamer, little daffodil.

my faceless maids are waiting for me. our relationship is in reverse- they give me the instructions and they've started talking again. side by side, three large canvasses against the white wall, enjoyably haunting my home. titanium white and mars black and german earth and sepia and ivory white. oh, they are lovely and i miss them already even though they aren't even finished yet. my loves! my lovely, lovely ladies! if i could be as beautiful.

day one

it is the first day of the last month of the year. bright and cold and all my newly found fairy-tales at the ready. i finished "Through the Looking-Glass" last night and two more short-stories in "The Bloody Chamber". i went to bed with a head full of ideas but can't remember any dreams. i woke up feeling easy and happy.

i wrote all morning long and found the end of the hand-made notebook. 7 days and it is filled. that won't cut it. and i saw this coming the other day when i ran passed the half-way mark and decided to go back to my beloved black and white speckled composition books. i have a new stack now and the first page of the first in the stack has already been kissed and scribbled on. an old, thrift-store valentine taped to the front cover.

i wrote and wanted to stay in one place all day long, rolling in the ink but i caught myself and checked the clock, found my sports bra, and ran through the big vineyard. they are pruning the vines today. cutting their tops off. the remaining grapes, crushed in the narrow aisles, smelled warm and sweet as cookies. i took my time and ran a bit further than i usually do. inga is sleeping now, worn out, and i am on my 2nd pot of coffee.

the light is good and clear. i will bundle up and get my brush. there is oil to work.

this day

i woke and wrote. wrote and wrote and wrote and checked the date, checked the calender.

it is the last day of november.

some sense of fear welled up.
some sense of excitement.
this thin day- the eve of december.
cold.
bright.
a needle.

is it dipped in silver?

my hope flies up. the new year is almost here. the same hope i had this day a year ago. but our year fell to disrepair almost as quickly as the year before it. i am anxious for a good one. or anxious for my eyes to change. i want to see the good. i want to be aware. but the fear comes closer... this is how it goes.

will the silver tarnish?

my child-like hope. my wishing well. my small want for everything to be okay.

star light, star bright. you sit there in your cold orbit, little star, with your fingers jammed in your stupid fucking pointy ears. have you heard me even once? have you ever heard anyone? prayers filed away between planets, gone unheard, unnoticed, and our world is spinning, spinning, spinning.

i am doing my best to listen.

i am doing my best to dig my self out, away from this type of grim anxiety. hope and fear, back and forth, back and forth. let me stay on the good ground, planted in hope, planted in the sun. let me think of the forest. let me think of my mother and the forest behind her, behind her roses. deer-bitten. slowly frozen. the forest is not to blame. crackling. the sounds are strange. it is easy to become afraid.

i am doing my best to listen.

this day.
this thin day.
this eve.
the cold sweeps in but the sun is out, unclouded. the crow comes to squawk. the branches come down. the vines twist and grow. my feet will pound and my heart and my breath and my hope. pound, pound, pound their way toward the end of the year. the thread end. the needle cut loose. a new eye to push myself through.

i am doing my best to taste the silver below the tarnish.

i am doing my best to listen.

signals...

it hasn't gotten any warmer today. it has only gotten colder. tighter. my fingers are slow. the heater must not be turned up high enough. i can move this little finger to raise the little lever on the thermostat and make it all better, make it all go away. at least here. at least here. for me. the wind kicked the sickly yellow pollen down from the big tall pines. it's everywhere and rushing up my nose and eyes when i step outside. no more stepping outside. winter. i have plenty of yarn and can make myself a scarf, a sweater, gloves, a woolly hat, and snugly thick socks. too thick for shoes. my toes are moving slower than my fingers. i'm thankful for my many quilts. i'm going to go get under them and stay under them. i have hot chocolate too. and good books. and a need to just sit in one place. one place where it's warm. one place where i am the only determining factor. one place where the slowness in my fingers will either dissolve or won't matter.

cold.

winter is signaling.

blah...

drinking coffee and eating raspberries as the RAIN COMES DOWN. my schedule has been thwarted by the weather once again. no good. i did not get to obey The Almighty Jog nearly enough last week due to the TYPHOON and my prayers for a week of sunshine have gone unanswered as of yet. blah. i may have to resign myself to doing the more than slightly embarrassing TV workout this morning. ahhhhh! it's embarrassing even when you're by yourself! ha! they're just so goofy! all the "sexy" moves you're supposed to follow along with usually just leave this girl feeling a bit ridiculous. but it's a good opportunity for laughter, i suppose. geez.

and what's more- i've got some works on paper to ship out today and i do not - repeat DO NOT - like taking art outside when it's raining, no matter how well it's covered and packaged. it's a risk that i just really don't think is worth it. not at all. so i'll be hoping for at least a couple hours break in the rain today so that i can try to keep to my schedule for today and be responsible and all that good stuff. dang drizzle. i live in CALIFORNIA! winter? huh? i forget every year that we actually do have seasons here and i am always so disappointed when winter finally arrives. always. always always always. and yeah... i know... the trees. they need it. uh-huh. yep. got it. doesn't mean i still don't hate it. so there. i'm pouting now. and logic doesn't work when you've got your bottom lip stuck out. :)

and the storm arrives!

oh, it is coming down in SHEETS! it's the tail end of a typhoon! ahhhhhhh! my little rottweiler here is even afraid to go outside! ha! and so no jog today either. we will have to find ways to keep ourselves entertained inside, i guess. good thing i'm stocked up on projects and paint and paper and all the things a person needs to while away a rainy, rainy day. these days are good for silence. no sounds in the house at all. just the rain beating down on the roof and a pile of books next to the bed. in addition to my beloved hazelnut coffee, i've also got a little stash of hot-chocolate that i've been waiting to break out once winter arrived. and here she is, at least for today. i'll pretend i'm some famous, reclusive, so-and-so and do everything from the confines of my bed. ha! like andy warhol said- everything is more glamorous when you do it in bed.

morning...

the weekend went by on an odd foot. not bad, just a strange gait. i've been told by strangers in line at the grocery store that a big storm is on its' way and should be presenting itself any time now. inches will fall, they said. inches. needed. but you know i hate it. ever since i was a child, i only like the rain when it comes down at night. and when the night lifted, i saw that the day is a grey one. little pin-prick drops of moisture falling in the light off the street lamp. softly, unheard, like pine-needles. the storm makes its' signal. any time now. someone said 'tuesday' but they might've been wrong.

drizzle, drizzle, little cloud.
here you are
and there you go. go ahead
and pour down.