Everything's Bigger in Texas

Mississippi was but a stop-over on our way to one of the primary destinations of this vacation:  Irving, Texas.  Some people looked askance at me when I named Irving as a hot spot for us but what they didn't realize is that, besides being a Dallas suburb and home to Dallas Cowboy Stadium (which, btw, was demolished in 2010 - click here for a video of it being imploded), Irving is home to the Taj Chaat House.

Look!  It is still here!  We stumbled across it in 2008 when we came to Dallas to install The Knitted Mile. Our hotel was in Irving and we were looking for supper.  We took a chance.  Occasionally such chances are rewarded and this time it was so.  The Taj Chaat House offers up some of the best South Indian food outside of South India, and in a style that is so uniquely South Indian, meaning that you fill out paperwork (with carbon copies) to place your order.

It was just as good as we remembered.  We had only one night in Irving so we made an executive decision to make a late getaway the next day.  By delaying, we were able to go to Pink's Western World in the morning.

It is home to more boots and hats than you can imagine.  In 2008, Lucy got a pair of boots there that were so beautiful and amazing here that we still mourn the fact that her feet got bigger.

But she found another pair!  To top it off, we were able to have another meal that can't be beat at the TCH.  (Note:  see that woman in the background?  She is the dosa maker!  We bow at her feet!)  Stuffed to the gills with iddly, vada and dosa, we hit the road and headed still further west.  

I think West Texas should have this as a slogan:  West Texas - Flatter than Saskatchewan.  It is sure to bring in the visitors!

Also, they have snakes.

Deeper

Asheville from the balcony of our hotel.

The good times kept on rolling in Asheville.  It is a place filled with used book stores, yarn shops and organic produce.  At the first bookstore we went into, this was the first book I saw:

I didn't buy it.

The interior of The Grove, an upscale indoor mall type of thing in a former office building.  It was surprisingly lovely.  We hung out in a shop that sold fossils and crystals.  Asheville has a lot of stores that sell crystals.

Our next stop was Meridian, Mississippi.  We stayed in this pink house, which was about five times larger than most of the houses around it.  Finn and Lucy were somewhat embarrassed to be seen entering the building.  

All I knew about Meridian was that it is halfway between Asheville and Dallas and as the home of Oil Can Boyd.  The woman who ran the B&B seemed slightly insulted when I mentioned that this was the fact that came to mind about Meridian.  In actuality, it turned out to be a kind of funky place with an active downtown (a rarity!).  

A cemetery in Meridian.

A cow statue on a trailer, also in Meridian.  I don't know about you, but I would like to ride inside that cow and wave to passers-by.  

Mississippi never disappoints.  It remains my most favourite Southern state.

Asheville = Good

We bid our dear kitties good-bye and hit the road.  Note to would-be burglars:  Our house is filled with more people than usual so you will be disappointed.

Our first real stop is Asheville, NC.  Everyone who I told that we would be stopping there said that I would love Asheville.  Normally, when that happens I automatically think that I will, therefore, hate it.  I knew why people said it.  They said it because Asheville has a high hippie quotient and, it is, as Finnian said, like a smaller Portland, Oregon.  (Like a good teenager, he said that with a bit of a sneer in his voice).

Dang it, but I do love Asheville!  Sometimes it is hard to be someplace where I see all my favorite things out on parade - it reminds me that I am such a cliche.  But then again, how can I really hate a place like that?  As I walked home from my morning yoga class, the answer was definitely no, I can not.  

Plus, we met up with my friend, the artist, Patrick Glover.  He lives in Charlotte, NC, but is desperately trying to save money to move to Asheville, where there is more of a community for him.  It was great to hang out and have some supper...

...at the Mellow Mushroom.  Hippie pizza - gotta love it!

For Uncle David - Hoagies?  Really?  We also have seen many signs for "subs".  No sign of grinders anywhere.  Just FYI.

Yes.  Asheville = good.  We will wander about more today and enjoy a potluck lunch over at Phil Mechanic Studios, a most groovy place that is doing what so many of us dream of doing - creating a space for artists of all kinds that is welcoming and affordable and fun.  And they process and sell biodiesel fuel.  

Yes, Asheville = good.

Our Home and Native Land, sort of

Oh dear God, not another cat picture...

This missive comes from high atop Mt. Webster.  

Here is what I have learned lately:

• The men at the service desk at Queensboro Toyota love Canadians.  Having spent the past two Fridays there, I have noticed a trend.  The first time, the guy told me Canadians are smarter than Americans because they figured out how to have decent health care "like Europe".  I was impressed to be having a conversation about single-payer health care with the service desk guy at Toyota.  The second time (and different guy), I learned that he loved Canadians "because they are very relaxed".  He also said he wanted to go to Toronto one day.  I said, "You live in New York!  Why do you need to go to Toronto?"  (sorry, Toronto) He said, "I've heard it's nice there.  Plus, New York isn't all it's cracked up to be."  You heard it here first.  My fellow Canadians, should you ever feel unloved and unwanted, head over to Queensboro Toyota on Northern Boulevard and 62nd Street in Woodside.  A warm welcome awaits.
• We have a Canadian car, which is how these conversations got started.  
• In case you were wondering.

I think that is all the bullet points I can conjure up today.  I may not have learned much but I am damn proud to be (semi)Canadian.

Shocked and Stunned and Stunning

What's this?  Some new yarns for my etsy shop? (Link on the left hand side over there.)  Well knock me over with a feather.

A red hot one just right for Valentine's Day.

Merino and corriedale, 124 yds

And a sunny one just right for this non-winter we are having here in NYC.  This one includes some groovy strips of raw silk spun into the wool.

Merino, tussah silk, raw silk fabric, 130 yds.

A Turkey in Every Pot

It seems Mitt has finally admitted that he doesn't care about poor people.  It is possibly the only honest thing that has come out of his mouth this whole campaign.  Reading a bit of transcript from the morning talk show on which he made this bold statement manages to be stunning in an age when it is pretty darn difficult to be stunned by the shite that comes of out the mouths of politicians.  The link above offers you a chance to watch the video clip - if you have the stomach for it.

I much prefer this video:

Bid High

Breathe, 2012.  Crochet cotton, gesso, masonite, 23 x 13 cm.

One should not forget to breathe.  This is very important when giving birth to another human being, when doing drop backs and, in general, as an ordinary, daily thing.  Please try to do it for as long as you can.  I also highly recommend just noticing your breathe every now and then.  It is there for you, so give it a little attention.  You might be glad you did.

In case you need a reminder to breathe, you can bid on this artwork as part of The Sweetest Little Thing fundraiser for Struts Artist-run Centre in Sackville, New Brunswick.  Struts is a lively place filled with art-making and artist-supporting.  They hosted the conference, A Handmade Assembly, last year (where I was invited to participate on a panel and give a talk, so it must have been good).  I will be going back this fall for some good workshop fun....but only if they get lots of funding.  Which they need.  And deserve.

Breathe is not up on their website yet, so you can not actually bid on it today.  But soon!  At the moment, however, you can bid on a piece by Barb Hunt.   Really, you can't lose.

Happy bidding!

Art, Art, I want you.

Recently, I was reading an article in the New York Times about photographer Zoe Strauss, who is having an exhibition at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.  There are all sorts of things one could say about her work, which I think is provocative in a good way and pushing some boundaries that I, personally, enjoy seeing pushed.  But one thing in the the Times article really stopped me in my tracks.  The author made mention of the fact that she keeps a blog about her working process and labelled that activity as "an amateur tic".  To give some context, the author was noting that Strauss herself does not avoid the label "amateur", indeed sometimes embraces it.

I know other artists - famous and not-so famous - who keep blogs but I have to say that they mostly all keep strictly to posting about their work and/or ideas that relate directly to their work.  It isn't so hard to then make a leap and ask myself what, exactly, I am doing with this space.

This isn't a knitting blog.  It isn't a spinning blog.  It isn't a yoga blog (although that has been hard to tell lately).  It isn't a Buddhist blog.  It isn't a homeschooling blog.

It is my art blog.  Welcome to it.

What are we fighting for?

This morning, in mysore practice, when one of my teachers was giving me an adjustment and she said, "if the practice were fighting, you would be a professional."

Another teacher, this one of the Zen persuasion, recently said to me (after I had finally "figured something out" with the something being something that he had been telling me for years over and over but I had only just got it as if he had never before bothered to mention it), "Well, sometimes when a student is done arguing...."

Wait.  What?

There seems to be a theme developing here.  But I am not an argumentative person.  I hate fighting.  And I actively seek out the goals of these practices.  So what I am fighting for?

There's a good question.

Meanwhile, today I had two new asana added to my mysore practice as well as the dreaded drop backs.  You can be sure I fought my way mightily through them.

Here is Kino MacGregor giving some good instruction on dropping back and standing back up.  Let's just say, I am not quite there yet.

Tough but Fair

Scene:  The interior of an Earth-friendly hybrid car heading onto the BQE.  A minivan, seen ahead on the road, behaves erratically and nearly causes a dangerous situation.

F:  What do you expect.  They are driving a minivan.

R:  Driving a minivan makes you drive poorly?

F:  They are already dead.  They have nothing left to lose.

R:  Huh?

F:  Get married.  Have kids.  Be boring.  Get a minivan.  They are already dead.

R:  I was married.  I have kids.  Am I boring?

L: (from backseat)  Yes!  Duh.

R:  Well, you are my kids.  One could say that you are the cause of me being boring.

L:  You were just making the best of a bad situation.

Look Homeward Angel

Chance--the hinge of the world, and a grain of dust; the stone that starts an avalanche, the pebble whose concentric circles widen across the seas.

Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward Angel

This spinning wheel belongs to my wonderful friend Martie in Taos, New Mexico.  We will be visiting her very soon and she wondered if I might carry this wheel away with me.  You see, this beautiful antique wheel was made in Canada - the east coast of Canada - and Martie hopes to return it there.  It functions perfectly but Martie has never really used it so she is hoping to find it a new home, or rather, send it back to its original home.

Alas, as I drive an Earth-friendly hybrid car, I can not fit this wheel in my vehicle.  But Martie is willing to ship!  If you live on the east coast of North America (I think borders, in this instance, are not that important) and are interested in learning more about the wheel and possible ownership of it, please email Martie at taossunflower (at) gmail (dot) com.  Just replace the you-know-whats with you-know-whats.

'Tis a beauty.  It needs your love.

One Thing Leads to Another

A friend sent me a link to an early Jim Henson short film - before he created the Muppets.  You can see it here. I am sure I am not the first to describe Henson as a man ahead of his time.

In the way of the internets, one thing led to another and I found this excerpt from another of his early films.



Love it!

The Avenue of Trees

Shared here with deep gratitude to all those who contributed to this project.  Thank you!  And I hope you like it.....

ETA:  Did I leave off your name at the end?  Please let me know and I will correct it.

Public Art and Community Engagement

On Monday evening, I will be participating in a panel discussion hosted by the New England Foundation for the Arts about public art and strategies for community engagement.  Among the people presenting, I will be there with Michele Cohen, who was the curator at the Trustman Gallery at Simmons College when I did my project, Unconditional Yes, there.  Click here for all the details.

The panel starts at 5:30 p.m. at the Hibernian Hall in Roxbury.  There will be some time for refreshments and informal talk, as well as question and answer time during the panel.  Please stop by and say hello!

Teaser

What does my work and contemporary burlesque have in common?

I am asking myself that same question.  But who cares really!  Why does everything have to "make sense" all the time anyway?

If you share my laissez faire attitude about art, then come on over to Brooklyn this Sunday and check out The Holdouts, an exhibition curated by Brett Rollins and featuring work by six artists.

Yes, there will be burlesque.

There also will be crocheted and knit squares.  Hundreds of them.

The Corridor Gallery, 334 Grand Avenue, Brooklyn, NY.  Reception from 4 − 6 p.m.

Studio Visit

One of my goals for the new year is to spend more time working in my studio.  When I had younger children, it was impossible to get to the studio to work so I sublet it for years and years.  Finally, when it seemed more possible, I took back the space.  But my work had evolved to suit my life with young children.  It had become so collaborative and so well-suited to being worked on while sitting on the living room couch.  Did I even need a studio anymore?  Why was I paying rent on a space that I hardly ever used?

These questions continue to come up, even as more time becomes available to me as Finnian and Lucy gain independence in their daily activities.  Yet, I have kept the studio, now with a studio mate (who I love, btw) to help pay the rent.  There is always something about having a space where I can be alone and shut the door.  Virginia Woolf was right - a room of one's own, even if you share it with another artist sometimes, is essential to an artist.  For me, going back into my studio also is to become reacquainted with older work that was more studio-based i.e. more suited to hanging on a white wall than on a tree on a highway in Korea.  These works are more intimate and personal in nature and recall, for me, very specific times in my history.

For example,

Obviously I didn't have children when I started this one!  But then they must have come along shortly thereafter because it was never finished.

Yes, I was making a beaded pair of lumberjack underwear, why do you ask?

Maybe I do need to finish that one.  

On Friday, however, I was there to prep some things for a visit from a curator putting together a show at a space in Brooklyn.  I managed to get two boxes of squares into the studio with assistance from Finnian, who was delighted to help as you can imagine.

The squares are very, very dirty.  Here is the very first one I made last summer in Newfoundland:

It used to be pink.

The plan for the show is to stack them, like the photo above, around the perimeter of the gallery with an aim to get all 700 in the space.  I think it is possible.  Note to self:  bring some soap.

Kukku for Kukkutasana

It is the middle of January and I know the thing top-most on your mind is how my kukkutasana is coming along.  Two weeks into the new year and I am happy to report that one of my teachers gave me a golden piece of advice.  So golden that I thought it worth boring you with yet another yoga post in the hope that someone reading this also finds this asana to be a challenge and could benefit from this nugget of wisdom.

It is thus:  after garbha pindasana - after rocking around in a circle - let your arms come out of their position between your legs in padmasana a little.  For garbha pindasana, arms should be tucked through to above the elbows.  Now pull them out to below the elbows.

After only one week of trying this, I was able to get up and stay for five breaths.  Amazing!

But looking at this photo of none other than BKS "Light on Yoga" Iyengar himself, I see that he is below his elbows too.  

I feel even more brilliant today!

PS.  Today also is my most brilliant son's birthday (although I don't think he can do kukkutasana).  Out of respect for his privacy I will only make this mention of it.  Happy birthday Finnian!

Two Films

First, a short film about John Daido Loori Roshi by Rachel Loori Romero.  I can't embed it here so please click this link to view it on youtube.  Lots of beautiful images about a remarkable man.

Second, I had the enormous pleasure of seeing this film yesterday evening.  I can't recommend it highly enough.

Hooked on You

As much as I would love to spend all day watching the kitties watch the raindrops roll down the window panes - they watch with such eagerness, ready to "get" them - the truth is that I have rather a massive job of work ahead of me.

On Tuesday, I came home from my early morning mysore practice to find four Korean gentlemen waiting at my door.  Their message to me was clear, "You must take these boxes for they belong to you."

Exhibit A

Sure, in the slanting mid-winter light (is it really winter?  It has been hard to tell), they look almost romantic.  But do not be fooled! Within them, they contain the hard work of a summertime and early autumn.  Not just my hard work, but the hard work of many, many hands.  Perhaps your's, dear reader?  Do not be further fooled!  While the boxes say "no hook" on them, I can assure you that many, many hooks were used.  Needles also.

Exhibit B

My goal today is to get the contents of at least two of the boxes to my studio, where they will be shown to a curator who is putting together a group show at a space in Brooklyn.  I am not sure he will want or be able to show all of the 700 squares, but it would be pretty amazing if he could.  The boxes themselves are so heavy that I can not lift them singlehandedly, so I don't exactly know how I will get them to my 3rd floor studio.  Given that this project even exists, I think finding a way to get them upstairs is but a minor issue.

Details on the Brooklyn exhibition are forthcoming.  Stay tuned.

Whole Life is Practice

Joe, I hardly knew ye

Against all stereotypes, South Korea was not a land of tea and honey.  It was a place of milk and coffee.  On nearly every street corner in both Cheongju and Seoul there stands a coffee shop/cafe.  From Dunkin Donuts (I kid you not) to my favourite, called Angel in Us, the preferred drink was, by far, coffee.  So much so that I started drinking it again out of sheer desperation for my morning caffeine.  About five years ago, I quit coffee after having one too many cases of the jitters and have been a dedicated, not to mention smug, black tea drinker ever since.  

But then I went to Korea.

But then I read that Sharath says "coffee is prana."

But then I did the Rohatsu sesshin and got about twelve hours of sleep during the entire week, cumulatively.

See, I must be an intellectual.  I drink coffee and isn't that the New York Times open to...the op-ed page?

It feels good to be back.

Familial Love

Well, there it is!  A stunning slice of history, isn't it?  Leaves you kind of breathless.  Wait, what?  You fail to see the significance of a graffiti-covered cement wall on Staten Island?  Pull up a chair, my child, while I tell you a little story.  It is the story of a family that has great pride in its Irish heritage and will stop at nothing to find connections to the good, bad and ugly events that make up Irish history in the late 19th/early 20th Century.  

It is here, dear friends, at 194 Richmond Terrace in Staten Island, that Jeremiah O'Donovan Rossa, beloved patriot to the Irish Republican movement and murderous criminal to the British, once lived.  Here is a rare photo of the famed Uncle David, who has his own personal connection to Staten Island and to JO'DR, looking pleased as punch about finding the site of the late hero and supposed ancestor's home.

Here is the view that JO'DR would have had from his home, minus the SUVs and tall buildings in lower Manhattan.  This is a real slice of history, kids!

Um?  Kids?  I guess Finnian wasn't that interested in his own family history and preferred to read Tintin in the backseat of the car while the more adventurous among us took in deep draughts of the past made alive in this very moment.  Sheesh.  With a name like Finnian, you'd think he would have a little respect for his cultural heritage.  Apparently not.

While we were there, UD treated us to a tour of Staten Island, including a quick visit to the campus of Snug Harbor Cultural Center.  We visited the Connie Gretz Secret Garden, which was very sweet even in its January state of being.  Although, as Finnian said, how secret can it be if there is a big sign over the door?  The kid is sharp on some points.  

We followed this with a driving tour of some other highlights of the island and then had a fantastic lunch at one of the several Sri Lankan restaurants that dot the St. George neighborhood.  Staten Island is an oddball kind of a place but well worth a visit (speaking as someone who lives in two oddball places that are well worth visits).

And by popular demand...  

...some better photographs of the afghan my mother knit us for Christmas.  It is a beauty and worthy of more attention than my quick mention of it allowed.  She knit it in three panels and then stitched them together.

We love it more than words can say.

Entering

Enter 2012.

One of my favourite ways to welcome in a new year would be....

...with a lovely skein of lace weight handspun made from BFL/silk combo hand painted by Widdershin Woolworks.  Rumour has it that this particular fleece was purchased after my vow to not buy any more fleece until a good percentage of my current stash, I mean, inventory is used up.  Well, rumours are ugly things so don't you believe it.  Instead, delight in its beauty and soft sheen.  This little baby will be in my etsy shop either today or tomorrow.  It would make a stunning shawl, if you are of the shawl making persuasion.  There may be a slight whiff of dishonesty that hovers over this particular skein but I assure you that any suffering that may result in consequence will be all mine to bear.  To you, it will be pure heaven.  

Despite all signs that the apocalypse is upon us, I feel quite optimistic for this year.  We have our upcoming trip to New Mexico where we will finally meet the wonderful Carol, Martie, Monty and Ani.  I will begin an advanced yoga teacher training program (in the Desikachar tradition for those who need to know such things) starting in March.  Also in March, I am attending a workshop with Kino MacGregor, one of ashtanga yoga's best known teachers and center of the now-famous short-shorts controversy.  

(Warning:  more yoga talk ahead!)

Speaking of ashtanga yoga, it is time once again to set my goals for improving one or two asana in the primary series that I find particularly challenging.  Those with 365-day long memories might recall that the 2011 asana were bhuja pindasana and sirsasana.  How did it go?  Well, my bhuja pindasana is much improved.  In Janaury 2011, I was still very scared to actually get my head to the floor and getting back up was more fantasy than reality.  (I wasn't even thinking about jumping into the pose from ardho mukha/downward facing dog- 365 days isn't that long!)  Today, I easily get my head to the floor.  Getting back up remains a challenge on many days but I am slowly improving my control so that I don't land on my bottom.  Or face.  Moving into bakasana is still nearly impossible but partly because I have never actually done bakasana successfully on its own let alone coming out of an asana that leaves me slightly stunned.  As for my dear, dear sirsasana, we have become good friends in the way that friends know all your joys and sorrows, highs and lows, noble intentions and base faults.  In December, 2011, I even tried it in the center of the room.  And it only took me two years to get to this place!  Sirsasana and I, we go way back.  

For 2012, I am sticking with sirsasana.  We are too close now to abandon each other.  And I will focus on kukkutasana.  My goal is to simply to be able to lift my lead bottom off the mat, even if by a millimeter.  Who will measure that millimeter remains to be seen.

So there you have it.

Enter 2012.  Welcome!

One More Thing (and on and on...)

But wait!  There's more!

• This program sounds really wonderful:  The Studio Museum of Harlem will kick-off a series of community quilting workshops during Target Free Sundays. Join quilt and fiber artist Ife Felix in conversation with Faith Ringgold as they explore the history and significance of quilting as a collaborative activity. In celebration of the Kwanzaa principal Kuumba, which means creativity.  You are invited to participate in the creation of a community quilt.  December 29, 2011 from 4 to 6 p.m. at the Studio Museum of Harlem, 144 West 125th Street, btw Lenox Ave. and Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Blvd.

• My neighbor in McIvers, the artist extraordinaire, Colette Urban, is selling 2012 calendars featuring images from her new work Limited Possessions.  She has carefully crafted her website so that I can't steal an image from it, but it is really fantastic and funny and will make every month of 2012 fabulous for you, guaranteed.  That is quite a bargain for $20 + shipping, so click here and order a year of fabulousness immediately!  ETA:  Wait - I found an image I could steal!  Enjoy.

• Call it my legacy or perhaps my rightful inheritance, but while some are born with silver spoons in their mouths, I was born with silver knitting needles in my hands.  Or something like that.  All I know is that this is my Christmas present from my mom:

• A gorgeous, wool, hand knit afghan.  In a feat of stamina that belies her 84 years, she is making one for each of her children in the colour of their choosing.  Alas, not only do I have to fight over it with Finn and Lucy, but the kittens have tried to stake their claim on it too.  I try to maintain a generous, open heart with most things but I feel the cold clamp down of possessiveness when it comes to sharing the warm woolies.  Maybe I need to make a 2013 calendar of my limited possessions?

• Finally, I have been spinning and I do plan to stock up my etsy shop first thing in the new year.  In keeping with my tradition of never having a full shop over the busy shopping season, I will break out the goods just in time for the post-holiday slump.  It is all part of my very successful strategy of "How Not to Succeed in Business".  I will be recording seminars on this topic for interested viewers, available on VHS and Beta.  Audio available on cassette tape.

Happy New Year one and all!  1987 is going to be great!

Christmas - Now with Canadian Content

The holiday itself is fast approaching.  As a foot soldier (doughboy?) in the War on Christmas, I will be removing Christ completely and spending the day up at the Monastery.  We will plunge into Rohatsu sesshin immediately afterwards, which will take us to New Year's day when we will silently ring in 2012.  I have heard the tradition is to sit until midnight on December 31st, and then have a celebratory breakfast, presumably with the sesshin precautions lifted i.e. it is ok to speak and make eye contact again.  Considering that I am usually running for my dear, sweet beddy-bye promptly at 9 p.m. each night of sesshin (I usually rise at about 3 a.m.), it should be interesting to see what happens.

In case you were wondering, the children will be surrounded by love and good cheer, not to mention oodles of cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.  I get a little tightness in my throat and chest when I realize that I will be missing that festivity this year, but it seemed like the right thing to do.  One thing that cheers me is the knowledge that, next year at this time, everything will completely different.  I have no doubt that I will be much more certain about the correct path for this time of year in twelve months time.  The beauty of impermanence is that the shitty things change too.

But I do not want to end on a down note, because really I do not feel down.  I am filled with optimism for 2012.  There are so many exciting things on the horizon both large and small: some potentially crazy big or just plain crazy and some small but very exciting nonetheless, and some will be, no doubt, even more life-changing than the wild stuff that happened in the mind-boggling mess that was 2011.

In the spirit of that optimism, I offer you these two videos to bring a little Canadian content into your holidays.  The first, a lovely version of an old favourite (gotta use the proper spelling here):

And second, in case things are feeling a wee bit too cheery, a good dose of Newfoundland style holiday.  'Tis like a cold gust of wind blowing over the Blomidons, across the bay and right into your front door.



May the light of the season shine through the darkness for you!

If it doesn't fit, you must acquit

First the spaug update - my foot is doing great and I am getting back to my normal activities.  The only uncomfortable time is when I have to wear my shoes.  The one that was soaked in blood last Wednesday seems to have shrunk or stiffened up, not unlike OJ's glove.  But as I am sure OJ discovered, if you just keep wearing it, the thing will soften up again.

Good thing too because it is a busy time of year.  With doorbells ringin' and packages arrivin', it is tough to be laid up.  Today, a package arrived that contained a great present (to myself) that isn't actually related to the holidays at all.  Back when I was a rich, married woman, I asked my friend Patrick Glover if I could buy one of his amazingly beautiful paintings that always brings me back to being a child, sitting in the backseat of our family car and being driven around the north shore of Massachusetts on a rainy day by my mother.  After some back and forth, Patrick said he would paint a new picture, just for me.

I was a little nervous after I was no longer a rich, married woman about whether I could really afford to buy a painting from Patrick.  As it turned out, the answer to that was a resounding yes.** 

And voilà:

This photograph is but a poor representation of the painting, which is luminous and textural and contains the multitudes.  

Unlike OJ's glove or my shoe, this painting fits perfectly.  Thank you, Patrick!

** I think everyone should buy real, live art from real, live artists.  For one thing, most artists really need your money.  For another thing, real, live art is a wonderful thing to have living your house because it is alive.  That's the idea.  If you can pay for a monthly cellphone subscription or for cable television, then you can afford a modestly sized artwork by a contemporary artist.  You won't regret it, I promise.

Keep Calm and...Did I Remember to Turn the Oven Off Before I Left?

Thank you for your well wishes for my bloody foot.  It is healing nicely.  I can't seem to get Finn and Lucy to look directly at my wound yet, no matter how many times I stick it directly in their line of vision.  Finn refused to smell it as well.  Kids these days!

Alas, I must venture back out into the world today.  But before I go, I want to share this brilliant piece of cinema with you.



Citta Vrtti Nirodah.  That's what it is all about!

Enforced Relaxation

Yesterday, I had my second surgery on my foot.  My health scare was about skin cancer - the bad one that begins with a M.  It is a topic that I suspect will never be too far away given my overall paleness and reckless history of sunburns.  In any case, this time, instead of being overly freaked out, I was, perhaps, overly nonchalant.  A sizable piece of flesh was removed and I headed home via subway with my heel bandaged and taped, stopping at the bank and the drug store for some errands.  Upon arrival home, I discovered that my sock was soaked through with blood (hand knit socks, too!) and my shoe was quickly filling up.  To a chorus of "eeeewww"s from Finn and Lucy, I raced upstairs to rinse off and apply some pressure, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind.

Boy, this story is getting gory.

Lucy suggested I photograph my wound and post it on Facebook.  I wonder how many "unfriends" I would get if I did that?  I did photograph it and I could post a photo here....shall I?

Nah.  It is red and juicy.  You get the picture.  This morning, more blood in the kitchen after I attempted to walk normally.  So it is that I am home with my foot up, missing Finn and Lucy's special presentations at their homeschool Waldorf program.  To comfort me, Lucy told me that it was ok, she would just tell the  instructor that I didn't love them.  She's such a dear.

On the bright side, it means I have all day to just sit around trying not to bleed.  Shall I fix my website?  Rewrite my artist's statement?

Or perhaps, begin that sweater I have planned and for which I recently purchased this yarn?

Anzula "Squishy" (merino, cashmere and nylon) - purchased with a gift certificate from my dear friend Jennifer from Newfoundland at Purl Soho with my dear friend Anne from Newfoundland.  Must knit this sweater and wear it to Newfoundland!

Or should I spin, having had three requests for yarn in the last two weeks?  Hmm...how will treadling be in this current condition?  "Blood on the Spinning Wheel: The Robyn Love Story" (A possible title for my autobiography.)

Or maybe I will just read a book and snuggle with these two cutie pies.

So many delicious choices on this day of enforced relaxation.

New York City Secrets

In the fall of 1983, I moved to New York City to attend art school.  While there have been interruptions, some have been a couple of years even, mostly it has been my home (until Newfoundland entered the picture, but that is another story).

Almost 30 years of living in New York and there are still things to discover.  For example, this:

It is a statue representing Asia on the northeastern corner of the old Customs House in lower Manhattan.  Look who is sitting in her lap.  It is Buddha at the moment of his enlightenment, when he touched the ground.  A little research indicates that most of the other symbols surrounding the seated woman are rather paternalistic and come from an imperialist mindset, but I can appreciate Buddha looking northward, surrounded by the heavy duty karmic forces at play in the financial district.  Maybe he needs to be just a little bigger, actually.

And then, this:

It is Stone Street, also in lower Manhattan.  I was amazed to discover this street that I had never seen nor heard of before.  It is in the shadow of Goldman Sachs building at 85 Broad Street.  Past history and history being made at this very moment.  It is all there at the tip of this little island off the northeast coast of the United States.

Clueless

H/T to Mr. Picky for pointing this out.