Molly Goatwax

Update, of sorts

Here is the "painting" I have been working on today. What I'm wondering is, does this piece qualify as photography for grant and gallery purposes? I think I'll just submit it and its brothers anyway. The worst I can expect is another icy shoulder, and who knows?

Edit: A careful perusal and interpretation of the application guidelines for an individual grant from the State Arts Council puts these works solidly in the photography category, so I'm going to give it a whirl. 

Photo of a sculpture by Virginia Warwick.

Men underfoot

The other day I told Hubby that I found it irksome to step on the sharp little bolts he pockets at work when they escape from his pants at night. It's a classic case of man-habit, to load up on matches, or screws, lighters, wire twists, what ever...then dump them or not at the end of the day, to have this detritus rolling around the wooden floors at night to catch tender feet. I have been observing closely for some time, enough to be a middling authority on man-habits, and we're not talking just toilet seats left up and sauce lids lost here and there. No. Both the men in my house leave the seats down, but one considers a complete meal to be a hunk of meat the size of his head and the other tunes me out when I issue directives. "Please don't run the water in that sink, there's a shot glass stuck in the drain!", was ignored as I repeated it over and over as the sink overflowed whilst the deaf-to-me man washed his dishes...I asked the one to whom I am married about man-habits and he acknowledged the piles of dirty socks and underpants in the corners. The other, Mr. Beetz, pontificated about the trouble he would catch from his wife when he forgot their anniversary. Wow. I didn't think they had been married long enough to celebrate one, but it was so long ago. Where is Mrs. Beetz, anyway? Why does she not come back after thirty years to reclaim him? I been waitin'.

a pause to catch my breath

Oh, how the days fly by! Between my two small jobs and the activities the 11 year old's school puts us through, I have been quite involved, and not with the fig beer. Tonight, for instance, we are attending the tot's band performance. She plays the flute. I knew this would be a long long day.

The Bum's refuge

Perhaps the empty, discarded chairs represent The Isolated Other, or just a moment of repose stolen by the wayside.

Irony

Someone dumped a little school chair in my yard. Be careful of what you wish for.

press one if correct

Dear Hubby,

Do you remember that time I accidently set that lady's lawn on fire? We all make mistakes.

cresting

Every once in a while you wake up and realize that you feel good enough to be taken aback, shocked. This gets truer with each passing year. The last time this happened to me before yesterday was July 7th, 2006. I arose in the Palmer House Hotel in Chicago after a night of merriment with friends from way back. It's been a while since I've enumerated my blessings and I am grateful enough for a delicious night's sleep perfumed by spring blossoms through the open window to count it in the top ten. Any good night's sleep is a gift. I am ready for another.

He'brew Rejewvenator, a fig beer

 We'd call this a complicated beer, here. A very tasty, strong brew with caramel overtones and a strong sense of figs. Very smooth and delicious figs, redeemed by a bouyant carbonation and a light drinkability with a pleasant bitter and tinny roof, not over syrupy. It reminds me of a dark abbey ale. It was good after a curry dinner this evening with a bit of Irish porter cheddar cheese. Yum, yum. I'd look at a second bottle were it not so costly and one really kinda knocks you on your behind, anyway.

Hot

This morning I picked up my small tool box and told Hubby I had to get going, I had a lot of poems to write. They remain unwritten but I laid rice paper over the watercolor paper with a nuetural ground and I made a nice curry.

Yahooty

Life grows ever more interesting. Today I spent the morning shooting babies, and I am confident now that I can nail the little sprogs when their eyes are open. After a two hour lunch, I had a master class in the composition of paper with 10 year olds. A few of them were interested enough that my explanation involving pulp smoothies made sense and the rest of them glued happily away with their animal prints to abide for a while without carping at each other. Too much. They were all enthusiastic at cleaning up, too. Bonus! And then, and then! I have recieved a communique from the tattoo studio which is still interested in my application as an apprentice. Who knows where my next adventure will take place or where it will lead! It just goes to show in badly mixed metaphor: cast wide your nets, so that no stone goes unturned. Ahem. Time to paint up a new shirt for that interview.