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And one of her Dobermans, and now I see the shadow of the head of the photographer, who is probably my dad. Old old photo – WWII era, probably. Faded to a tobacco color, scanned and lightened and desaturated. The dark edges were hidden behind a mat, in a frame that also had an old old photo of a man – I think my grandfather. At some point I want to color it. Also, my mother had red curly hair, and great clothes.

I found this in a box of books out in the garage. I have no idea how it got there or why. Augh! my mother, and our relationship, and how she never knew how much I admired her, even if I wasn’t the daughter she wanted. So beautiful, so brilliant, so shouldn’t have been a stay-at-home mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive.

I also now know that I have to go through all those boxes that have been sitting there since I moved here in 2009 (Cool; less than a decade!). I also found a newspaper from 1942, and a couple of Readers’ Digests from 1937 and 38. And kids’ books. I know what to do with those. Yay for co-workers with babies!

Every time I open this blog up and see “Dotted Yellow Line” I remember how awful those years were, when I started it. Stalked by a brain-damaged alcoholic former fiancé (totalled my car, turned my life into a country-western song) (sounds worse than it was, maybe. Maybe not), Daughter at college and sliding into an abyss with no way to tell me how bad it was (she’s just coming out of that depression now – lots of bullying), working as a janitor to be closer to said Daughter, and driving an hour one way to work, ex-husband telling people (in a small town, pretty much everybody he came in contact with) that Daughter has Asperger’s because I am a lithium addict (??? Yeah, no. Lithium is a salt. You can’t get addicted to salt.), and that I let above-mentioned boyfriend have sex with Daughter. Oh, yeah, and he (ex) killed my dog. It all feels like the sound of those scenes in The Shining that were recorded in a walk-in freezer – my bones hurt and I was all alone.

Man. Hard times. But now I have that photo of clouds over the Lake up by Cornucopia, and I can learn a new association, change that feeling to new road trips and better times.

“I can walk with my feet and hear with my ears.” Is that what River Tam said?I’m better now, actually good, and the sun is shining. So fuck it, and let’s dance.

 

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So we changed Katniss’s food, she’s more active, it’s freakishly warm in Northern Wisconsin for February, she goes out on her leash and I go out and sit in the sun and entertain myself, all of which explains the vaguely cat-shaped sketch. The big ball at top is in response to an admonition to do contour sketching. The squiggley line is just for fun, and the circles are because circles. I put a bit of contour shading on the upper right left that reminded me of hair, so I kept on with that and then it looked like a choir, and there it is/here we are.

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I’ve been driving up to Cornucopia, to hang out at the beach for sanity purposes. That dark line is open water. The week before, open water started at that farthest ridge, which was loose chunks of ice rising and falling with the waves. I stand in the wind and imagine that all the terror and fear and anger is being blown out of me and dispersed. It works.

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A sleeping horse.

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There were the customary gulls. This white feather against the russet sand exposed by wind blowing away the white snow, which could be a haiku, if I worked on it.

Maybe I’ll go up there again tomorrow.

In other news, all that stuff last time about iterations? I was doing something and not paying attention and turned on the burner under that cutting board. All I got to say is, thank goodness for smoke detectors.

I think my entire life has been one huge karma lesson about letting go. Or maybe everybody’s life is, and I’m just thinking I’m special. I should let go of that.

And also in letting go; we did passport applications. Word to the wise; don’t let that self-important weirdo from the post office take your photo. If I don’t get arrested and deported on the basis of that image, I will be stunned. (We’re not planning on going anywhere, but I have been told several times that it’s a good idea in this particular age of the world.)

how to write haiku

pieces of place and season

you stop to observe

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Special Princess Farty Unicorn, sleeping in her comfy spot. I DO NOT HATE THIS SKETCH! Possibly because I got parts of the cat right. Possibly because she moved before I could do much comparing. The line of the back could be different, to imply a more correct foreshortening.

What else? I went for a walk, wearing a hoodie and a scarf and no coat because winter seems to be over. It’s fun to consciously remember that one does not have to do the penguin walk, and relax into walking.

Also, I’m reading Wuthering Heights, and am maybe having issues with people being that cuckoo, except that the people in question really have limited experience with humans, so of course. And it is a story, which would be no fun if Catherine said, “Hey, Heathcliff you are so not where I’m at,” and convinced Linton to move to London so she could see plays and museums and stuff. Also, Ellen, the narrator, brings up a memory of Mr. Earnshaw giving her a shilling for her Christmas box, which brings us really nowhere nearer understanding what Boxing day was all about, except a box is involved somehow.

Also, all those things that are happening. Ack.

So, the summer barely existed. Apple trees didn’t bloom until June for the second year in a row. We had maybe three days over 90 (which is fine!), maybe three days in the 80’s. Temperature was mainly in the low 70’s during the day, and below 65 at night. My cherry tomato plants are covered with tomatoes – hanging at the “just ready to start ripening” stage.

But it’s a beautiful day. The thought that dragged me out of bed this morning was that it’s a perfect day for hanging clothes on the line. And while I was hanging my sheets out, a bit of a breeze came up, just enough to billow them out like sails –

With a thin, thin hint of ice.

And yet again, I’m ready.

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