Molly Goatwax

Broadening Horizons

It takes time for the wheels of the city government to grind. While we are waiting for the license for Molly's to transfer, I have been working some days there, going for walks and gawking at the giant old houses in the adjacent neighborhood, fartin' around in the studio and generaly feeling rather feckless. It's not that I'm bored-there's a million things to do-but...but....there are so many possibilities! Maybe I'll get another convertible and drive it across the country!

Spray

There was a watermain break on Falls Road yesterday! It sprayed thirty feet into the air from the top of the cliff and then into the river far below!

I hope they don't close the road to my studio, at right, to fix it. Now that would be a disaster.

Walking path

I neglected to mention that, the only bar in my zip code lies down the walking path...

Dream home in the desert.

Because we are strange, Hubby bought a house in a gated community outside of Las Vegas. Swimming! Tennis! Golf! No, we are not moving into it. Right now he is there filling it with furniture and roomates.

Jelly roll

One of the amenities in our adopted neighborhood is a walking path by a babbling brook whose streamscape is being ruined re-archetectured conserved. Lately I have thrown myself into vigorous treks down the path and even over the rocks in the river. How, you might wonder, does this fit in with my programme of unbridled hedonism? First, I discovered that my beer belly was advancing into new territory around my back. The excess jiggles when I stomp my feet and my jacket won't be handy to conceal it much longer. Then, the path is right at the end of the street and walking is free and it feels good to get myself circulating again. The doves are cooing and the songbirds are celebrating. Gardens are getting tidied up for blooming. I also need to justify this raspberry swirl spongecake somehow.

Life imitates nonsense

As I was rounding the corner of Eutaw to Dolphin by one of those fine marble churches I observed a gaggle of stately women in hats bidding one of their own caution as she crossed the avenue in front of me. "You take care of yourself, Viola!" As I heard this I was profoundly dumbstruck by the woman's likeness to an actual viola. With broad shoulders and even broader hips she strode at her walk signal. I was glad for her sake that her parents had not named her Calliope, Ocarina or Timpani.

All ready to Spring

Ah, Spring! When this woman's thoughts turn to raw vegetables! And lamb! Well, no. These urges have been eclipsed by the gnawing anxiety provided by the maze of procuring health care coverage after the COBRA expired from the lousey policy that came with the last rotten corporate job I held. Then the scanty short term insurance we held after that gave out. After four months, FOUR MONTHS stringing us along while examining our records, The Big Blue would not underwrite us as individuals at any cost, and I had visions of returning to the banking system for their inadequate "benefit", just so that I could go in for maintenance before my engine seized for lack of oil. Which, by the way, scheduling all those routine exams just as your policy at a new job kicks in will get you fired, anyway. But wait! We live in Maryland! The state mailed me a letter telling me I will have coverage for my family for 560 a month, with a 1,000 annual deductable. I don't know about you, but that's a lot cheaper than my useless high deductable from the insurance that no one would take. I am saved! For now. They probably won't pay for that fancy funny farm on North Charles Street*, so I think I'll see what's in the vegetable bin.

* Big Blue paid for it before!

Another ownerless excercycle

Homer D. Cat

Just as I chafed at the chains that tethered me to a computer in some banking firm's cubicle, so the cat longs to escape in the Spring. And he did. Homer went homeless. For two days we called into the air before we finally lured him into the recapture zone. (I'm not running after a cat, even an orange one. If a truck was barreling down the street at a daughter, then you'd see me sprint.) Maybe he ran for his life after spotting the cans of Priority cat food in the cupboard. Sorry, Homie, just out to save a few cents over Fancy Food.

Leonardo says keep it quiet*

Although I have been occupying myself in the studio, sometimes it feels as if I spend more time watching paint dry rather than applying it. I have unraveled the mystery of the gel transfer process. It is very dramatic. It makes redundant all those years of painting lessons. Miss. M. stopped by this afternoon to sit in my upholstered visitor's chair. She wondered why I didn't have a radio and I told her they tell you not to listen to music while you paint. (Whatever birds have been nesting under the slate roof, the trains and the guy painting across the hall are symphony enough) And I have to stand up, I explained as I got compulsive on my French easel with a level, breaking it down, adjusting the nuts and tweaking the pearwood legs to bring the surface to the exact height, tapping it hard to see if it could withstand the impact. Then we punched sentences into some aluminum panels...Miss M. occupies an apartment in the floor below my studio, and she said; "So when I hear you hammering away up here, I'll know you're writing poetry!"

* From DaVinci's notebook