Dirty's Last Hurrah

Yes, Dirty is now a changed white boy, he won't be running his game on the female cats that live here and these are the last of his kittens. I have thousands of photos of them because they are so cute it's hard not to look at them and play with them and kiss their pink little bellies. They are already promised out to people waiting to love them and make them the center of their universe and parting with them will be a little sad. Ive made them butterfly wings and unicorn horns and even little ballerina dresses. They like it, I swear they do or they don't even notice because they are chasing kitten things. Oh to be a kitten.

Rock Opera

The first day of warm Spring weather and it seems almost criminal not to be driving somewhere fast listening to loud music. I was thinking about that this morning loading up my ipod and looking for something and stumbled across Meatloaf.

There was a beauty living on the edge of town
And she always put the top up and the hammer down
And she taught me everything I'll ever know
About the mystery and the muscle of love

The stars would glimmer and the moon would glow
I'm in the back seat with my Julie like a Romeo
And the signs along the highway all said,
Caution! Kids At Play!

Those were the rights of spring and we did everything
There was salvation every night
We got our dreams reborn and our upholstery torn
But everything we tried was right

She used her body just like a bandage,
She used my body just like a wound
I'll probably never know where she disappeared
But I can see her rising up out of the back seat now
Just like an angel rising up from a tomb

But it was long ago and it was far away,
Oh God it seems so very far
And if life is just a highway,
Then the soul is just a car
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are
And objects in the rear view mirror
May appear closer than they are

How I love the Rock Opera and who does this better than Meatloaf? He's been a favorite of mine since the old Rocky Horror Picture Show Days, yes I was one of the troubled youth that found their way to the local theater to see Rocky Horror at midnight on Friday Nights. Meatloaf is one of those guys that got better looking as he got older and when he sang those terribly long songs about love and youth and sex and drugs and rock and roll I was singing along. When I was sure that Best Friend just needed to hear this music and she'd be as enamored as I was, I gave her a cd of bat out of hell. Needless to say it's still in pristine condition and I don't think it's ever been played. I am a sucker for romantic rock opera especially if the singer is a bad boy and meatloaf always seemed on the edge of bad boy for me and then he appeared in fight club and that fascination was over.

I Took Woolf Seriously

I remember when I read the first of Woolf writing of Judith Shakespeare, the fictional character she developed, a sibling to the bard, unable to study, the first Yentl of sorts, beaten for wanting to marry for love, forbidden to read because she had too many household chores to attend. The importance for having a space that was just mine to write or create or even just read seemed of vital importance. I have been working to organize the billions of beads that are in my studio along with another desk I'd filled with papers, pages of french literature, tiny pictures of birds, rubber stamps, glitter, tiny tubes of glitter. I had filled yet another space to be creative and I had room so why not make that room even more my own? I had thought on this long and hard not wanting to take over too much space with my creative pursuits hearing from more than one person, "you need fewer interests." especially when they saw my desk, the desk that sits right outside my kitchen, where I could sit and paint and still watch over a cooking pot of soup.

And Woolf was right, of course she was right, I was so excited about having more space to make a soft place to paint where the light would be just right was more than a lingering thought, but a mission I guess. I looked at desks, hundreds and hundreds of desks, not really impressed with the modern pressboard issue of a desk. So I wandered over to a 2nd hand store and found a dining room set that was gently loved but worn well and used thousands of times. The table makes for a perfect desk, lots of room, no fear because of how little I paid for it that I would ruin anything with paint. It came with 9 pieces, but I asked them to keep the chairs and resell them because I wanted the chair to be wicker, wicker felt like summer to me.

You can see from the photo that the china cabinet sits on the back perfectly well. It felt to me that the set was only biding time as a dining set and waiting to be my painting desk. I have filled the buffet that sat under that china cabinet with paints, and more paints and brushes and things I love. I will post photos of that when I am done with the lamps. I think I want to make lamps to put on top or perhaps take some lamps I've found apart and make one tall lap with giant bubble bases made of wondrous glass that they just don't make anymore. Yes, I love old things, repurposing them, wondering who or what used and loved these things and delighting in finding my own way to use them. The piece came with a pretty carved buffet that has wheels on the bottom. I had them put it in my living room it just feels good there, a place to hold art books and my Spring collage, filled with images from old magazines, photos I've taken, little garden magazine clips and set in an old barn window on foam board so I can change it out when I am thinking all I want to see is summer flowers or fall leaves. I can't wait to fill the shelves in the china cabinet with little boxes filled with this or that, something to ponder on a summer afternoon while painting, pausing to finally make a decision about what I am going to do with a box of glass buttons. I found the bunny at the 2nd hand store as well. He's handsome and he is marking the days until easter. After I think I will put him in the garden and let him keep watch there. Yes, a garden, it's almost time to plant and after the longest winter I can remember, I am ready, oh so ready.



The Indigo Girls, how they do amaze me, telling a story about a published diary and how it can change one heart, one woman, one thought at a time, creating rooms all over the world.

Waiting For Spring

In the dreary winter morning light
the blue sheets on my bed looked like an ocean
and floating there were books
some started, some waiting and others
near the end their secrets about to unfold themselves to me
The little gray cat that loves me
was lingering at the end of the bed
like a gargoyle surveying all below him
You were there with me as you are in most anything I do
Those secret thoughts that a woman can hide
because a woman's heart is stronger it always had to be
You put on a brave face like those sparrows looking for grass seeds in January
and when you aren't where I expect you to be
I will swallow the lump of worry and wait

I can hear your voice today like a song that plays over and over
when you've just heard a part of it
not the voice the world hears, that tender almost whisper voice
I get to hear and it's lovely
it keeps me warm you see when winter just lingers
like a scraped knee, pain, not enough to alarm
just enough to remind you it's not going away
and you aren't here to scoff at a scraped knee
shake your head and laugh thinking I am drama
when I dont have to be and stoic when I should fall to my knees

Next week when I am at the market waiting in line
wondering if I needed four more things to push me
into the line of never ending items
you will be with me and we will be dancing on the mall
to a lingering tune we can only hear
and the great monuments will be our tomb of sort
celebrating love and bravery and affection so rare
you'd look for it
and if I had a broken arm and you had a broken arm
people would think our happiness was generated by the crashing of bones
and soon everyone would have a broken arm
falling intentionally out of leafless trees
wanting to be us happily twirling
the cares of the world left to the world who seldom cares
about two such dancing creatures
and men will wonder, why does she look at him so dearly?
while women slip their numbers in his pocket
I will be glad being a tiny bit
the ever silent devoted actress

There are days when I am waiting for us to push into the next life
where time is an unlimited commodity like grass
or summer ants or late fall bees buzzing about
filling our head with ideas of what to do with those lingering moments
and we on the St. Germaine in some small cafe
crunching croissants your hair in a state of unrest
and not caring at all
lovers you see they are always in a state of half dressed
half combed
half done
half happy
half inside me keeping me there on the edge of time
full of want
I miss Spring today and I will repeat it a few times because
I'm not allowed to say I miss you
and if I did, if I were brave enough to break down
and plant some seeds in frozen earth
would you find me and assure me there is a time and place for everything
in that voice that makes me want to believe
that you not only carry my heart in your pocket
but also the secrets of Spring.

Henry's Ramblings

A Romantic Love Letter written by King Henry IV of France (1553-1610) to Gabrielle d’Estres.
Romantic love letter written June 16, 1593 the night before a major battle.

I have waited patiently for one whole day without news of you; I have been counting the time and that’s what it must be. But a second day I can see no reason for it, unless my servants have grown lazy or been captured by the enemy, for I dare not put the blame on you, my beautiful angel: I am too confident of your affection–which is certainly due to me, for my love was never greater, nor my desire more urgent; that is why I repeat this refrain in all my letters: come, come, come, my dear love.

Honor with your presence the man who, if only he were free, would go a thousand miles to throw himself at your feet and never move from there. As for what is happening here, we have drained the water from the moat, but our cannons are not going to be in place until Friday when, God willing, I will dine in town.


*************************************
When I am bemoaning my state of "I hate when you are gone" he will say to me, "Carrie you have no concept of time at all." or "Let's rearrange the Myan calendar to add another day at your whim." or even "You defeat the purpose of us spending a moment together if you will storm off in anger." There is nothing reasonable about missing someone when they are gone and you hold them so dear to your heart, nothing reasonable at all. Love will turn the most understanding person to a pouting child and even a serial phone slammer. So when I found this letter of Henry's I thought, you see the world really does live as a romantic lives in the unreasonable state of there has to be something wrong with the world when you are gone. There was a Starbucks Ad over the Christmas season, notes written on their cups and one of them read "Our friends found us to be the strangest of couples. We only find it strange when we are apart." This I loved.

winter footprints

I gave you socks and gloves because I wanted your feet and hands warm
not because I didn't think you were capable of keeping them warm
but because I wanted it not to be something you thought about
I wanted your head open to think of things not so tangible
especially in the winter
The winter is glittering for a reason, it is the season of thinking
of things bigger than we are
it's the time to make Valentines
to write poetry of nothing ordinary
even though the ordinary can be very enchanting
if you dont believe me watch an icicle melt
to understand that while the living breathing world is fast asleep
under the cold layer of ice
that there is a piece of us quite alive and waiting and even planning
the same way I plan when I walk by the winter garden and picture violets living there
that tiny part of us that understands that like anything
even like love
like adventure
this too shall pass and it's a reckoning we seek
the epiphany to explain all suffering of the world
summed up in a lyrical phrase
to minimize pain, a whisper of "this too shall pass"
and if I were to take that sort of direction from anyone
wouldn't that someone be you?
So I will care to the little things, the insignificant,
the "I know how you take your coffee"
and "you shouldn't miss this appointment"
if only to give your head the space to dream of things
no one else can conjure
to nurture the soul that feeds mine
to give you the energy to change the world
as Ive watched you do, your loudest silent cheerleader
to remind you who you are
if nowhere else than in my eyes
floating above the earth, clean
doing the right thing when the right thing seems impossible
like Armstrong's wife cheering his footprint
she knowing that all men want to leave their mark
wringing her hands together wondering what sometimes possesses him
wouldn't he rather be with her at the opera?
of course not
no man would rather be doing something you've suggested he do
perhaps he will agree to disagree and in there
lies the hope of change
if only for a brief moment in the middle of winter

Kissing

When we are whispering in low tones
my lover and and I
and the world has faded
spinning the way the world just does
and close to me are his sweet bones
I am compelled to kiss him
take him in my mouth
and kiss him some more
as Shelley's waves crash the shore

That's what lovers do
hours spent kissing
wanting that time to be connected
to his lips
to fall into him
to steal the breath from his lovely mouth
to taste him to smell him like summer
because he smells like summer
for my lips to know the respite of his
those soft lips that speak all day
a thousand words,
that hum in the shower
it is his mouth after all to do as he pleases
until he's a foot away
and then those lips are mine


That's the promise of lovers
to steal a kiss at any moment
without notice
to lean in and just expect their comfort
that lovely wetness
the sweet curve of passion's embrace
letting me love you the way I like to love you
the way I need to love
and in that moment you see
do you see?
that I am free

You pull me to the lofty place
where time moves quickly
where your shoulder is an anchor
and my heart lives in your pocket
where there are noises outside the door
we dare not open
"Can you stay for just a few more minutes?"
I will ask of him as I often do
how could one deny such a request?
and when he presses his lips to mine
his whisper speaks of "will this do?"


*****************************************************
We have approached the season of kissing, the season the bossy republican calls, "Carrie's favorite thing." He will tease me that this holiday is like Christmas, my birthday and the fourth of July all rolled into one. It is the holiday of the romantic notions that float around in my head and land usually somewhere interesting. I had a greeting card business once and Best Friend and I would spend endless hours making Valentines, covered in glitter, listening to Carly Simon songs.

I don't think I will ever tire of my fascination with little hearts cut from paper that are made to look like lace, or the idea that someone would save a Valentine forever and ever and yes, ever. I know I have been in love for awhile now and I still get caught in it's romantic trappings, i.e. forever thine, forever mine, forever ours. How could anyone not fall in love with someone who wrote that to them?



" Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours"

You see Beethoven didn't just write great music, he wrote of love. He wrote three love letters similar all during a three day stretch and never indicated who they were written for. Lovers share such secrets in quiet whispers when they are sure they are alone. I know I do. I am planning a Valentine or two, are you?