Molly Goatwax

Moving Furniture

Yesterday I delivered work for the show opening this Thursday and also picked up my piece from the group show at Roman's. Eager to see what, if anyone had contributed to the Box of Bad Ideas, I whipped out my keys and unlocked the small black padlock. Nothing. No one had suggested I do anything senseless or wicked. So! I am hanging it in my kitchen and inserting some bad advice not from recent experience but from observation of a close friend; "Start with vodka".

Variations

So we have cooked, feasted and cleaned our dishes. Over a low key game of scrabble in the afternoon, some buddies and I discussed our cornbread dressing recipes. More common farther south, this savory bread pudding is called dressing when created as an independant dish rather than stuffed into a roast or a bird and is bound by an egg/broth mixture instead of drippings from the enveloping meat. With sauteed onions and celery, I added mushrooms, a bit of crispy bacon and crumbled cooked sausage into the dish I served yesterday... I want to make a smoked cheddar and chive version next week. It brings to mind a bread-cheese souffle my sister learned how to make in college, called Roono, after the young man who made it his specialty. I feel those big pants calling my name.

Something in the air

The school I attended when small was run in a large old mansion whose every corner is inventoried in memory. The converted parlors and breezeways, the family style dining tables were all refreshed to mind this morning as I stood in my parking lot and smelled a beef stew being prepared by the grocery on the avenue. They are having a cookathon, it seems. I'm smelling all the old, country recipes. Next thing you know, I will need larger pants.

How much is that sod in the window?

 

In this instance, fifty dollars. I have an idea for a farm.... 

Like Motzart

 

A fish in the sink

 

With some people, its the cat. In our house we also have a Mr. Beetz.

Decomposition

One of the things I like about this particular week in the year is that many homeowners have let their Jack O'Lanterns sit on the porch an extra two weeks, so that any grimace or smile carved into them has become so much more pronounced with age. It adds to the goulish effect, more so now that they have adjusted our daylight into darkness at work's end. Here is a candid spy photograph of our cat, Homer, hanging out with the ghouls in front of our house;

 

This looks so much like a painting. 

The time change

Often when I am driving around I wonder stuff, like, What Are Kitten Heels? And, Who Lives in the House on the Top of That Hill? Sometimes my musings are tangentental; How Many Ballons would Fill That Water Truck or I wonder What That Lady would Look Like in a Leopard Print Turban? But this evening on my drive home my eyes were riveted to the flattened bit of path I could make out in the dark, blinded by lines of oncoming headlights and passing not just the usual deer carcasses pulled to the ditches at the side, but pieces of them. A leg here, a lump there. It reminded me that operating a motor vehicle is serious business and my eyes are not what they usta be. Time to get back on the roads more travelled (and better lit.)

Grass as Art

In the florist's window up the street are several large square glass dishes, like Pyrex baking pans or lab ware with perfectly edged potions of sod grown tall. I envisioned a tiny push mower but suppose the grass is clipped with scissors. They are strikingly displayed on glass pedestals of different heights.

cheek by jowl

My bedroom is now full of shrubbery. What's further, it is thriving. New leaves and buds have appeared overnight. Fruit ripens. I wish there were more room in here.