I just picked up a Christmas present for Myke, which will remain a secret until xmas eve. Then an ad popped up with a very cute shirt and I said “Wow! That’s really affordable.” before immediately scrolling past because nothing ever fits anymore. Then I remind myself “Hey sister, ‘anymore’ was actually a couple years ago now. Go look at the measurements!” So I do and I realize hot damn! I can get that freaking frilly black affordable shirt. Free shipping! Jazz hands in delight powerful enough to scare the cats away. It might be dangerous that I can purchase stuff like this again.Thankfully it’s cheap!
“I’m still pretty sure from the devil mouth I was born with, most of my lost baby teeth (aka how the hell is that canine growing way up there?!) were covered in holy water and buried far away from humans. But if they weren’t, I can totally see one of these! I could have kept it, nurtured it, and taught it how to seek out our enemies and terrorize them into submission. Something to think about with our kids. Given our combined DNA they should have some wonderfully haunted and evil tooth gremlins for us to work with!”
I just did a victory lap around the house. When I removed the last small bandage from my knee to find it completely healed! It still looks a hot mess for the massive scarring, but meh to that. I’m just bursting that it has finally healed. I thought it was going to haunt me into the new year. This is a grateful rabbit.
It occurred to me today that my Black Cat & Poisoned Tea Society artwork turned seven last month. During my off time from the aetherwebs I began my first large assemblage for the Winter Brides (pictured below), which is something I’ve wanted to do for years but could never justify the time away from the work that pays my bills. Anyhoo, you can see the collection here.
The Winter Brides
The Silk Bride
The Poisoned Bride
As I sat down to write my tea day entries I looked over a very long expanse of time. I was taken back by how many things had happened on this day, how many people of note through the ages had been born, and just how staggering this day was and might always be. So I instead turned away from the history pages and took a walk. I took what I call the long walk that would take me into the local town. When I reached town I found my feet unconsciously leading me towards my most favorite of spots in this place: Etta Diem’s Attic Shoppe.
As I moved through the shoppe’s front doors I was greeted with the oddities, strange things, and all around dark beauty of this place. Sometimes it can be hard to find another whimsical soul with the same amount of dark spice thrown into the mix. Since first meeting her, I knew Etta was my kin. She would never allow herself to be pinned down between the darkness and the light. She would never let anyone say there weren’t a pantheon of characters who moved through both places. I can honestly say she was the one person who helped me embrace all things about me. This is perhaps why I sought her out on this day.
“Miss Pagona! My little Poppy Seed!” the infamous Etta greeted me with as she moved from behind her attic shoppe’s front counter. She was as she always could be found: Dressed in dark Victorian attire with plenty of brooding and bruised color blooms to decorate her hair and attire. She smelled like white water flowers and orange ginger. When she wrapped her arms around me for her friendly hug it felt like a mother’s hug and for a moment I could forget that my own mother had been gone for so long. It allowed me to take a moment and exhale.
“What is weighing you down my dear? Your face has a shadow across it that has nothing to do with the sun and obstructions. Come now! Tell auntie Etta.”
I took a breath and soon found words falling from my lips. “Aunt Etta, it’s such a strange thing. I wrote my tea notes about things that have happened in time, and then focused on someone and something far more bright. I couldn’t find that today. As I looked over the histories of this day I saw so many things that were dark. The few highlights I encountered were simply the end of something that had been so dark. I needed something bright to write about and I could find none. It darkened my thoughts so deeply that I couldn’t turn a clear eye to the immediate world around me and find something better.”
The look on Etta’s face was what I needed. It was the perfectly understanding with just a slight hint of a smirk: She knew something. “Come with me.” she whispered.
The second edition of the Tea Bats Lenormand is on sale Nov 11th until Dec 1st! I love this deck, really I do. I don’t know if it’s me mellowing as I get older or that I spent so many years focusing on spooky women as art, that I’ve been needing a whimsical outlet. Who knows. Like all my decks it was a labor of love that kept my focusing. Please help out an artist so she can feed her cats, so to ensure said cats don’t get upset and eat her, so that I might live another day and not turn into a headline that reads eccentric artist lady found eaten by three pissed off felines, and buy a deck!
So as of my last post I was preparing to go in and have my face operated on. That surgery went very well. In fact, I just got back from my follow up appointment and my doctor was very pleased with my process. In three weeks time I’ve gone from torn up and shredded to ridiculously well healed. My knee is still healing and my eye is a pretty shiner, but otherwise you’d never know that I tried to take the left half of my head and body off via the stairwell. Color me tickled.
Now I finally get to stop thinking about my injuries and look forward to a business trip I’ve had planned with my gent for awhile now. This weekend we’re leaving for Boston for a large convention. Not one of our arty cons, but one for Myke’s actual day job–a place I get a freelancing with now and then. More than that, I get to see my dad for a little bit. I still hate flying and now I have to do it with a cane like a little old lady, but it’s all good. I’m just happy to have something non-doctor related to to look forward to.
The state of things: I’m putting my shoppe back online today. I still have only partial vision so me and the laptop screen are not really friends, but I can see well enough to get some stuff done. Halloween is fast approaching and that’s our season. Time to buck up and get back to the business at hand. Maggie took the contact form down for me while I was offline and hopeful Isidore seekers still poked about until they found a way to contact me about it. So I’m going to try and get that up at the very least. So off I scoot…
So the last time I updated my blog I was recouping from surgery. That was just about two months ago now. Well, two weeks ago, as I was mostly recovered and moving around without much issue, I got up to go to the bathroom around 5am. Our bedroom is in the attic of our house. The stairwell is in this small space that almost looks like a closet when you open the door at the bottom. It hides a very tall set of narrow, wooden stairs. Stairs I’ve made the bathroom trip down countless times in sleepy condition, sleep walking (but gotta go!) condition, tipsy, and so on. I’ve never had a problem. On this particular trip I missed the top step and caught my foot on the edge of the second and bent it under and started heading down… head first. Fun! Thankfully (if you can look at it this way, I do now) I slammed my face into the wall and knocked myself out. Everything after that is blackness. I didn’t regain consciousness (even with medic’s smelling salts and hard grinding their knuckles into my upper chest) until mid-ambulance trip on route to a trauma center in West Chester.
Setting the horror of the event aside for a moment, what really gets me is that at the time of my fall I was six hours away from getting on a bus and heading back to Grand Rapids for a week. When I came to briefly the ambulance gents were asking me questions to see just how wonky I was. Before that I was simply unresponsive. In my head, because it felt like so much time had passed and I was disoriented, I thought I’d already made the trip. My first worry, given how much pain I was in, was that my brother had gotten into a car accident after he picked me up at the Kzoo bus station. So I kept asking where my brother was and was he okay. Then I blacked out again.
When I awoke again I was in a hospital trauma bed with people around me and tubes here and there. I had managed to fall face first down those stairs and crash into and through the door. When Myke heard this and came down to check on me I was face down on the floor with a knee that was bleeding so profusely he thought I was going to bleed out. I thought he was exaggerating until I came home and saw the blood pool. I really managed to mess myself up. Injuries sustained were on par with a nasty car crash. I didn’t know what all I had done to myself. As I slowly started to get my wits back I knew that my left knee was killing me and that Myke and his mom wouldn’t let me look at it. My left hand had dislocated fingers and that fall tried to rip my pinky off, but thankfully it just ripped my web between it and my ring finger rather deeply. The trauma people only cared about my head though. I had facial fractures, a serious concussion, and I was bleeding onto my brain. I kept moving in and out of consciousness. My head was their first priority.
Here’s another interesting fact about emergency care in an ambulance: They cut your clothes off. My most favorite and comfortable pjs were cut right off of me to get to my wounds. I’m not going to mourn the pjs given my critical state at the time, but it did leave me naked in a strange bed with just a sheet over me. While in pain, bleeding, brain wonky as heal, and I still got to feel rather exposed to boot.
Eventually I was moved to a larger trauma center to address my head. They were going to take me there by chopper, however, I’m terrified of the things and apparently my reaction to the suggestion led them to figuring an ambulance would be better. So, another ride to someplace new. I didn’t like the new place. Most everyone who dealt with me was very nice, don’t get me wrong. But this is a level one trauma center in downtown Cincinnati. All the really BAD stuff goes there. And given how much near-death and horrible accident stuff they see, as nice as they are, the staff basically does what they need to do to you and tells you it’ll be over quick as you scream in pain. I did this a few times. The first time was them trying to get fresh knee x-rays. They told me I had a knee laceration but no one gave me details and as I said earlier: Myke and his mom absolutely wouldn’t tell me or let me see it.
So… a lot of hectic stuff happened there until they got me stable. I probably saw twenty different people with different specialties that checked over my variety of serious injuries. The orthopedic doctors were the worst. Nice guys, but it felt like raw torture. See, laceration was a nice way of saying I slammed my knee down so hard my entire knee ripped open. When they undid the wrap and removed the packing in the wound I was left with a seven by three inch gaping wound where I could see my knee cap. I’d like to say I was brave in the face of this but no; I freaked out. Freaking out led to screaming when the doctor moved all that around and stuck his fingers into the wound to check it. Eventually he slowly worked around the knee with a numbing agent so there was a poke into the wound and a burn. When it was numb he really gave it a look, then cleaned it out, and then explained he was going to have to pump 110cc of saline into my knee to see if any leaked from below the cap. This was to determine if my knee needed surgery. Despite the numbing agent for the wound, the saline went into my upper knee that was not numbed and it was one of the most horrible sensations. Then when he was done he tried extracting it with no success, except moving a syringe in and out till I was screaming at him to stop. It was… unpleasant.
Things gradually calmed down for me. I was no longer a priority concern so I was basically left to rest a bit. I was in one large trauma room with a curtain between sides. While I sat there resting several different traumas came through, including a car crash. The car crash was hard because I listened to them get the mother stabilized while the father needed serious work so that he didn’t die. He was awake for most of this and vocal. Thankfully I don’t remember so much about it now. My head trauma was to a degree that I was dizzy, wonky, and confused at regular intervals. I did manage to ask if someone would get me a gown.
Eventually my knee was cleaned again and sewn up. It looked rough. My torn web was sewn up. My dislocated fingers were fixed, which of course means someone held me while a doctor pulled on them to get the joints back in place. They were waiting to see if I was going to need facial surgery because the fractures were pinching muscles and nerves so I was having issues moving my left eye and feeling anything on that side of my face. They decided my face was far too swollen at the time. Another hour ticked by and everyone decided I was good for the moment so basically what remaining care I had disappeared with the supper shift. The rest of my experience there was rather hellish and long and I’ll be happy to never have to go back there again for any reason. They did the heavy lifting though when I needed it most so I appreciate that.
What has come after has been several visits to specialists, lots of new scans to keep a watch on my head, a lot of pain and healing, and one knee infection. Thankfully we caught the infection in time, but it came at the expense of my knee swelling up so badly that I was in excruciating pain. It also led to a strange and unhappy series of long moments: The ER doctor who tended to my infection and mega-knee was good and got me patched up and through the ER process in time to leave and haul ass over to West Chester to make it to my neurologist appointment. He’s hard to get into and with my injuries the time that might have come from rescheduling could have been critical for me. Sadly he didn’t feel comfortable doing the surgery my face required so he called a friend who could and managed to get me in there. This meant that morning we drove from Hamilton ER, then to West Chester hospital, then to the Eye Center in Blue Ash, and finally back home to Hamilton. No, none of these things are next door to each other. Yes, my left leg was still in loads of pain and all the excess swelling was draining. I wasn’t a happy girl. Myke wasn’t so pleased either. I woke him after he’d been a sleep for four hours because I couldn’t stand the swelling pain. During all those travels he hadn’t eaten a thing. My gentle giant can be a bear when he needs a sammich.
Now I sit here writing this as I wait for the time to leave for my eye surgery. They call it blowout repair to be precise. The week after my initial fall all my bruises had surfaced and 85% of my body was covered in them and very distressing hematoma bumps all over. My hands and legs were swollen. Numerous torn ligaments and munched up tendons. The cut across my knee severed a few important things to the space below it so I get these strange burning stabbing pains out of the blue as it heals. I had a cast on my left hand and a knee I could barely walk on. I have a very large hemtoma along side my left eye and the underneath is still black, as is the large bruise finally starting to fade along that side of my face and down my neck. Thankfully now, after a full two weeks, most of my bruises are fading and I can almost go out in public without people staring at me. I still get the looks because of my damaged face. I was even walking fine until the infection. All in all though everyone is most amazed that I didn’t hurt myself so bad I ended up staying in the hospital. It’s amazing what a set of stairs can do. It’s even more amazing how quickly I’m healing from it. Never in my life have I been so healthy that I recovered from a physical injury this fast. Without serious painkillers to boot. Tylenol got me through here and there, but honestly? Ice packs were my champion.
Mentally, on the other hand, even as the wonky and dizziness has gradually faded, I’ve been having an extremely hard time coping with all of this. It makes me angry that I could be so stupid to fall like that. It makes me sad that so much has happened to my body. I’ve had about five major surgeries in my life and what I hate most is that time in the surgery room when they’re prepping you before they knock you out. I get super anxious over that. That’s what I’m dreading most today. I’m not jazzed about a surgeon cramming an implant into my face via my lower eyelid, but at least I’ll be out of it by then. And if it helps restore my vision all the better. My eye, with that large hole in the orbital bone beneath it, is sinking you see. Not pretty. My brain just wants to scream at all of this. It’s too much in too short a time. I can barely look after my house let alone try and run my business. I haven’t been able to really spend time on the computer or phone because I can’t stress my eyes too much and frankly I can’t read anything I’m looking at anyway. Fatigue is starting to get the better of me and my appetite vacated with extreme im outta here a week ago so my weight has actually started to take a steep dive downwards. I’m struggling a little. Let’s just say I’m very frustrated right now. My thoughts are going to have to spend a little more time healing than it seems my body will.
All whining aside, we need to leave out of here shortly so I should end this to get to that. I have been updating as I can on my facebook page and Myke updates more on his. I have had a lot of well wishes and I appreciate them greatly. Time for me to scoot.
As a few of you may know I’ve been swimming through some icky health waters the last couple of months. After some tests and a trip to the surgeon we found out the main culprit of my irritations. Yesterday I had out-patient surgery to correct that irritation. The procedure went along smoothly and I came home snorgled out of my gourd (read that as: They gave me a lot of happy drugs so I wouldn’t feel or really remember what happened) and camped out in a recliner all night in la la land. Today I’m mostly more coherent, but the pain of the surgery is slowing me down a bit.
I’ll be on some heavy meds for the next week or so and keeping myself away from the aetherwebs so I have a little time to relax and heal. Then I’m hoping things will finally be back to normal again. I’ve been working at half capacity and very distracted for months now and I feel like that’s put me behind on so many things. I’m happy I can get back into my sites at full strength again!
So I have a serial fiction I’ve been working on, putting out into the world, and other stuff. When I try to sum it up I say “Vern’s Great Race meets Lovecraft wonderfully dark messed up stuff meets the hyper surreal blender of my mind with some scary HBO first season True Detective because damn! Finally twig puzzles are creepy again! … and that my friends is a tough sell to people who don’t know me. That aside, I’ve been using my “relaxing moments” to collage scenes from it… and yes, that sounds pssssbbssst. And they’re not evil or dark. So you should look at these collage snapshots into my brain is having a Lovecraftian horror chasing them down! CHASING! Or such. Err, how is your evening? I swear the dark is in there!
Well, not actually bloody… none was spilled. I spent the day updating sites (that still need further updating before they go live for those pages) and that to me is honestly enjoyable though tedious. I put on a marathon in the background (Darkness, Lords of Salem, some weird Canadian shows about weird stuff) and kept my head down and glued to the screen. Given I’ve been so useless with concentrating as of late, it was a good day. I finished it off with some new additions to my current deck project.
These are two more samples for my Ink & Blood Lenormand deck. It combines a variety of my favorite things that aren’t typically associated with Lenormand decks. If I didn’t mention it in a previous entry about this, the deck combines one of my artistic influences with trash polka style tattoos and Lenormand symbolism. I just love the stark colors and the sometimes simple graphics. I have three decks I’ve been fussing with, but this one has become my summer project. Anyhoo… snake and birds. More to come.
So both Orange is the New Black and House of Cards have new seasons? Netflix is trying to kill me. It’s like there’s this little evil binge-gnome that lurks around the house and it has a big N on its chest. It realizes that I’ve finally broken down and began watching Sons of Anarchy and made a call to all its binge-gnome friends. They came together behind my house where the main cable box is and formed a circle. The sky grew dark and they began to chant as their little bodies swayed back and forth. Somewhere far far away the great momma Netflix-Gnome-Beast heard their chanting and so whipped her evil red head back and cackled at the digital heavens where she is but one goddess among many. And then there, in my living room, my television heard the call and I looked up to see those shows flashing through my previews with the most sacred of words: New Episodes. Damn you Netflix. Damn you all to hell. There aren’t enough hours in the day for this. You’ll have to excuse me. I need to go find a shovel and start whacking some noisy gnomes out back.
So Miss Moxie Mox and her companion Hooter Todd are off to their new home today. I’m actually a little misty to see her go. I began sewing these dolls as something to get me away from the computer. I’ve been tickled that they’ve gotten a warmer reception than just being the product of my new hobby. I have a small army of them to get photographed one of these days. Click on image to see a larger view.
I’m almost back in proper form. Not knowing what was wrong with me was really stressing me out. When I get stressed out my anxiety starts to talk smack to me. When my anxiety has me cornered in the alley telling me I wear strange shoes and have a funny looking nose I basically shut-down. I keep getting better at dealing with that though. Back in the day when my life was a long string of unhappy health woes that I juggled with some seriously defeating life moments, shutting down meant shutting the fuck down. I talk about a lot of things and yet I still have trouble talking about the way I struggle sometimes to function like a normal human being. I don’t say that for dramatic effect, I truly believe that. I’m not a get up and get stuff done kind of person. I’m a sit for a bit overthinking what I have to do until the stress of it is giving me a tummy ache and having to push myself to get up and out of the house to do it kind of person.
That aside, I did find out what has been killing me the last two months and hindering my normal eating processes. I knew it was my gallbladder. I wish it hadn’t taken two trips to the doctor to find that out. I went when I first got back from Michigan because that side pain was getting so bad and coming and going with more regularity. And I was starting to find it near impossible to eat anything without filling up three bites in or getting sick. My regular doctor was gone though so I saw his partner. She had a way cheerier personality but she chalked up my problems to torn muscles because of my physical activity (I like to knock the snot out of the boxing bag we have in the basement now) and my tummy woes was probably it balking at the exotic foods I had at my brother’s wedding reception. So I went home and followed her instructions (icy-hot, heating pad, dumbing my diet down if that were even possible at this point) and see how it went. It went worse. Went back and saw my actual doctor and he sent me for an ultrasound.
It was as I feared: That little effing bean-shaped organ is having a hissy fit. Thankfully it is not so far along that they feel it needs to be removed. We’ll try some non-invasive things first. He told me those bad pain spells I had with the itching were most likely gallbladder attacks and I really should have gone to the Urgent Care for them. Ah well. I’ve resigned myself to going back to protein shakes to get the calories I need. When I sat down and kept track of what my daily protein and calorie in take has been I was shocked. My normal is about 900 to 1000. With my physical activity and things I eat that keeps me in a place where I lose three to four pounds a month. Which is slug slow, but hey–fast weight-loss is one of the reasons the gallbladder gets pissy. It spends all day at the end of the liver’s bile conveyor belt. There’s supposed to be at least so much food stuff throughout the day to give it something to do with that bile. When you don’t have that, it has nothing to do with that bile but find creative ways to pretty it up. Or at least that’s a less gross way of sharing what I was told. At any rate, I haven’t been getting anywhere near my normal daily calories. Shocker that I’ve been exhausted and feeling like crap. With my tummy issues I’ve actually lost a dress size worth of weight. I’d be more happy about that if it didn’t come from me basically starving my body of the stuff it needs.
After a couple of days of protein shakes, forcing myself to try and eat more often if in smaller amounts, and having my anxiety pull back its alley shank and let me run away, I’m feeling better. I got my ass up and cleaned the house, that’s a good start. I’m opening my online shoppe back up after a bit of vacation mode. Although the inboxes I cover for email is rather frightening at the moment. Time to grab some ice-tea, put something inane on the television set, and settle into response writing mode. In other words, back to normal!
This isn’t even a review. Consider it a fever dream of an idea from my childhood. What does that mean? I had a dream about this movie the other night when I had an actual fever and it was uniquely strange. I was an unnamed character with a variety of strange creatures that were my friends, as well as a court no one else wanted but who I adored for their strange details. And then? I found out my head was wanted. Much of the dream was me trying to keep my head and help Fairuza Balk, who was no longer a kid, but somewhere more in her scary American History X place. So I was trying to make her open her heart to everyone in OZ while at the same time keep my noggin. It was somewhat fun, while still being a draining and stressful dream that I will be happy to not have again.
So I ask: When you were a kid (in the 80s) did you happen to get the chance to watch the sequel to The Wizard of Oz? Did you, like me, wonder how that crap got so dark? And I say this never having read the original source material or seeing the silent films before that first one. I have not gone back to re-watch this movie. I don’t want to. It has a place in my young memories where I remember something being dark and surreal and totally influenced me later in life. I don’t need to meh that up. Sometimes the things that influence you when you’re young should just stay back there–forever messed up in your more impressionable brain.
There are moments when I realize I really need to stop and take a good long look at the keywords that make me take a double take. If I could free myself from those keywords I wouldn’t be drawn in, out of pure curiosity, to a description that read Turkish surreal horror movie. My brain immediately went Ooooh, that sounds different and lovely. Play it! Play it! Bad brain! That is not to say the movie I’m about to offer my humble review for is a bad one. There are always spoilers in my reviews so if you want to take in the horrible delight that is Baskin, look away, look away! Or at least don’t click the more button.
From my posting queue for busy days: It felt like the right time to set aside the Netflix series binge (which I typically have on the in the background when I’m working) and watch an actual movie. During the day when Myke is at work I generally go for the movies he has no interest in. I decided to go the arty route and watch Hard to Be a God. I didn’t realize it was three hours long or that it would make me feel like I needed a nice hot–CLEAN–bath every ten minutes or so. A bath with really fresh and fragrant bath salts in it and afterwards drying off with some very soft and comfy towels. Seriously. It did give me an interesting though strange movie to yammer about and yammer I will. It’s just taken me a week to make it through the whole film to get to the yammering.
The film is based upon a book of the same name by Russian authors Arkady and Boris Strugatsky. The basic plot is based upon a group of scientists from earth who are sent to the earth-like planet Arkanar to try and help influence the planet’s civilization that has stalled out in a primitive age; a dreary period much like the middle ages once known here. They’re not allowed to directly influence, use violence, or kill in order to do this. The story is mostly told through the viewpoint of Anton, one of these scientists who has assumed the identity of the dead nobleman Don Rumata and whom is also considered a god by some. He attempts to help save intellectuals and creative types from the religious zealots who are trying to keep civilization stunted through idiocy and fear. He comes to struggle with his role as observer who can’t directly involve himself in what is going on. Being a god-like creature (because of his advanced earth knowledge and hindsight garnered from his own world’s history) he finds himself asking the question what should a god do? That’s the gist at least, but it’ll be hard to take that from what you’re watching. The most coherent information is offered by a narrator in the first few minutes of the movie. After that things get a little wonky.
Hard to Be a God, for me, felt like walking into a never ending, never pausing Joel Peter Witkin’s photograph that was staged in the middle ages. It has the same type of dull gray landscape that frames scenes that are surreal and sometimes grotesquely beautiful–with heavy emphasis on the gross. The first ten minutes of the movie is really all you need to take in if you want to experience that for a moment. The visuals are striking and bleak, the movie’s overwhelming claustrophobic nature is immediately felt, and you quickly get a sense of the very disjointed and odd way any type of dialogue is offered. After that it’s just a state of constant movement, confusion, mud, shit, piss, snot, and an amusing amount of the main character smacking people in the head or grabbing them by the nose. Your view in the film is also hampered by everyone being aware of the camera as if you’re actually a silent person in this drama following behind Don Rumata. It’s kind of like they took the fourth wall and nuked it into nonexistence.
If you’d like to experience this without the rest of my wordy review, then move past my wee more button below and have a go of it on Netflix. Don’t bother with the popcorn; you won’t want to eat anything while watching this film. If you’d like to instead read my rambling and spoilers, well my friend, move your mouse over to that wee more button and follow Akon’s wise words and smack that.
One of those rare moments where I enjoy a Weird Al song as an seriously good sounding song. That means I look at his music as comediate moments. And it deals with my favorite thing! Conspiracy Theories! Yays!
I will be in Michigan for a bit to attend my big brother’s wedding. I will mostly likely be busy-busy so I have some random things scheduled to post here and there in my absence. I hope you’re all enjoying you May!
On this day in 28 BC one of the earliest observations of a sunspot was seen by the Han dynasty astronomers in China. In 1869 the first Transcontinental Railroad is completed linking the east to the west in the United States. And in 1908 the very first Mother’s Day is observed in the US in Grafton, West Virginia. Sidney Blower knows very little about these dates and their recorded events, but she does know a thing or two about the sun. You see, on May 10th in 1913 Ms Blower catches the sun and successfully brews it into her new tea.
The idea came to Sidney one night as she sat with her mother and father on the porch of their country home. The sun was starting to set in the distance and it took with it the last of the light her aging parents could see by. No matter how many candles she lit or how she tried to lighten up their home for those dark hours, her parents would see nothing but shadows and this distressed her so. As she watched that sun she wondered to herself if she could capture just a little of it and gift it to her parents so they had a small light in that darkness.
Sidney’s first few attempts were haphazard events that she didn’t like to think about. A sunburn came from one and a sun itch (something she would tell people you had to experience because no words could properly describe the sensation) came from the other. She knew she was onto something though. She just needed to find the right medium to work with.
There came a moment, as Sidney gently led her parents to the dinner table, where her mother reminded her to bring in their sun-tea. The young woman walked back to the porch and picked up the large jar of amber colored water that had been left with a light weave of material filled with loose tea leafs to cure in the sun. Sidney looked at that beautiful thing of tea and knew she could somehow get the sun into that jar better than just using its warmth to brew her tea.
Industrial Anthology – Do They Gather Quietly?
“Somewhere out there beyond the hybrids and the sexless, was a city constantly reinventing itself for the better. Only now and then did it give off hints everything was not right. It was like an unspoken underground was quietly bubbling to the surface. It was there to be seen, “
Ooh! My birthday falls on a Friday this year. That sort of means I can booze it up and sleep in. Being an artist sort I can kind of do that whenever. Damn…. I so lack structure. Leave me alone! I do the laundry and the dishes between creating stuffs! I digress…
I sort of look at birthdays like this looming shadow character that haunts the edges of my sight and every so often, most dramatically, sets down in front of me and waggles its Dracula fingers at me while it chants my proper number of years on this planet. Yeah, it’s kind of a dick that way. I tend to squeal and ask who does its nails. It then gets more dickish and gives me the business and I pretty much channel it out because my listening skills to that which does not interest me stopped maturing at the age of seventeen. Then I look up as though it had never been there and act surprised: “Oh crap! I’m so sorry age! You were saying? What? No! I was totally listening. I was! So, um…. remind me how old I am again? Really? Are you sure? Man… I should be so much better at this thing we call life…” You know what comes of that of course, right? My brain goes somewhere else and I start humming Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” and the character that is age and birthday gets pissed and leaves.
I do feel my age, I just feel no reason to get sobby about it. For good or bad, pretty much every single year of my life has been filled to the choking point with this and that which we call life. Would I rather some of it be different… better? Of course. I still can’t complain. I’m here, I have a good family, I have a good man that loves me, and I’m still got a lingering choke hold on “Wow! I didn’t know you were that old!” which I will take as a compliment from any 20 something Hamil-tucky check-out chick at Meijer. It’s the small victories that get us through life!
I have three deck projects going on right now and I have to decide which one I want to settle on. I’m working on one with a game publisher where I’m adding a minor arcana on an existing major arcana – I have a defined timeline with that. There’s wiggle room. Then I have a Lenormand and Oracle projects to do on my own time. My own time translates to what I do at the end of the night when I’m just doing stuff for me.
A few nights ago I had a conversation with Myke about creative output as an artist. For me, who has no defined income, I have to apply myself at all times to create new and make sales on the old. I have no regulated income. I take in as much as I put in and sometimes I feel like I spend all my time just putting in. Not even on one thing. I juggle because I have to. Sometimes that removes a little bit of my joy when creating something 2new that I’m into. I have long since accepted this as a part of being a working artist.