Moonstruck Musings of A Painter

This mornings' chilly sunrise found me snuggled into my favorite chair. I bought it with my own money when I was 12 years old, and haggled the thrift shop owner from $50 down to 35. It was my first piece of furniture and has been one of the few constant things since then. It's an unremarkable rocking chair; leather cushion seat cracked with age, It's Oak arms scored with the scratches and dents from careless play and a dozen moves. Its springs creak and groan in protest, but never fail to rock my mind to a quieter state. I've been taking my meds, getting sleep, reducing stress, but my mind has been racing. The thoughts fly by too fast for me to grasp. I snagged a few here and there when I'm struck by the beauty of a moment, but before I can write it down or audio record it to remember it, they slip away as though they've never been there; mirror holes in my mind where a memory should be. This comes at a time when my post concussion syndrome symptoms have come ba

There's nothing like surprise Halloween mail to perk one's day up, let me tell you! I thought today would just plot along like any Monday, but the mail gods had other plans. All the way from Canada a good sized package waited for me. I open it carefully as instructed and Halloween came early. I was squeaking and bouncing like one of Anubis toys as I unwrapped treasure after treasure. The biggest I saved for last, though. I held my breath as I pull back the paper on the most perfect little wine loving crow painting an original by Stacy Magic Love Crow. I am ecstatic. I love Stacy's work. Her crows convey so much emotion and energy. Thank you so much, Stacy. Your package got me back into gear for the fall season. I'd gotten a bit melancholy, not getting much done creatively, but this gave me a shot in the arm. I got my own gift in the mail for the person I was assigned for the fall/craft gift swap hosted by the lovely Katerina of miss Misanthropia. This has been so much f

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday morning I woke to a warm, snoring dreadlocked Rasta man wrapped around me, and my furry god curled up at our feet. I felt warm and sexy and sensuous. This morning I woke to a cold bed. Not even a dog to warm me.  I've had my sexy Rasta man here with me for a week again, this time after a six week separation. I dropped him off at Ronald Reagan National Airport . After a quick kiss for me and head pat for the dog, he was gone again. The dog, (formerly known as"furry god" ) has decided he is gone because of me and ignores me except to ask to go outside. He wouldn't even sleep on the bed like he usually does. But I won't let it get me down! Nope. This is the perfect morning for some self pampering with no self-shaming. I laid in bed watching 1 & 2 star Netflix movies (one of my stranger proclivities) until 11am this morning (got up to take the dog out at six as usual though). After that I felt ambitious, so I ran a hot bubb

There is a delightful chill in the air this morning that reminds me Fall is almost here. The leaves on a few trees behind my house have already turned red, blazing the way for Pumpkin Spice season. Yesterday I got started on my decorating, going with a rustic combination theme of harvest time and ancestor veneration. I haven't gotten my wall hangings yet, but I will soon. All that decorating got my creative juices flowing, and this year for today, the 14th anniversary of my dads passing through the veil, I put together this wall hanging. As you may have guessed or I may have said before, Dad was a painter. He did mostly residential wall or house painting, but also some faux marble and wood painting. He could also paint in oils beautifully. I saw a painting he did when he was younger and had time, and it made me sad that providing for us kids had stolen all his time from him for creating beautiful things. Ah, well, no changing it now. Now all I can do is be glad of the memories; pla

I feel good, friends. Finally. I feel good. It was rough after the fight my sis and I had, but after a few weeks, she needed help with my adorable twin nieces, so we came to bit of a truce. Now I see my nieces 40 hours a week, and can help my mom with things around the house. (She broke her shoulder when Anubis pulled her down during a walk a couple months back.) I work three days a week at a farm that is home to three Arabians, a donkey and pony, chickens, ducks, and two senior dogs. I love my work, and spending time with my nieces. I've had several side jobs come in dog sitting for people, and will be farm sitting in a month or so. I'm painting when I find time, and I have to find time because I've gotten several challenging orders.  One client ordered a set of glasses based on the Outlander books/series by Diana Gabaldon . As research for this project I spend a lot of time looking at well-muscled men in kilts online, since it's set primarily in the Scottish highlands

The day had been almost perfect. Sunshine, warm weather, clear skies and a drive through the mountains. Just a few little spats back and forth about seatbelt wearing and open container laws. Then there was the peeing on the side of the road and indecent exposure laws. But it was a beautiful day of swimming in a mountain lake with cherub-like twin girls and a handful of boys and the women who love them. The driver had a sip or two of the other's wine during their visit, but stuck with water. That's why she had volunteered her car, so the children would be safe. She knew this bunch, and they thought nothing of driving around, beer or wine in hand while children sit in the back seat. It sickened her and angered her that people like this get pregnant when they think about sex, but not her... she sent that thought away down the path it had snuck up. Down that path lies madness. So they ended the beautiful day by deciding to cook out at one of the mother's house and let the kids

It wasn't bad, as miscarriages go. Sure, there was the pain; the ripping-you-apart-twisting-hot poker-to-the-uterus pain. There was the knowledge that dripping down her legs was the hopes and dreams shed held for the dead thing inside her. Another would-be child: dead. Another child she couldn't keep alive, leaking out like any other bodily fluids. It wasn't that bad though. This one was so different from the last one. This one she'd felt the pains and when the blood began to flow she knew. She knew better than to hold false hope. This time she was not huddled hemorrhaging under a tree in the sand on a remote island in the Bahamas far from any hospital. This time she was in her mother's home, a mere hour's drive from excellent medical care. She'd felt the tearing away, the dropping feeling, the loss of Connection, and known. She took the time to almost ceremonially bathe and prepare herself. She told her mother she was going out for awhile and calmly cl

The sun has finally burned away the chills of a cold winter, and gilded pine needles whisper rumors of summer to poplar leaves above me. Last night the whippoorwill sang so hard and fast I feared he would burst in a feathery explosion of wildly mad, lust-driven song. I hope it was enough for the object of his affection. This morning Pee Wee sounds annoyed with his calling of the daylight. My hummingbirds' buzzing eclipses the many bumblebees boring into the railings of the cabin, and far below my mountain top are the faint echoes of traffic. Nearly every morning the same two deer graze on shrubbery nearby. Yesterday the little red doe tiptoed down my driveway as though she were stopping by for a cup of tea. This illusion was shattered though as my ever vigilant guardian, Anubis, burst from his feigned sleep and bounded after her baying like a hound from hell. Ah well. He's only protecting me after all, and she must seem strange to him with her big eyes and flicking ears. Str

My dear dear friends, I have been terrible at staying up to date with all of you. I miss writing, and reading all of your blogs. Right now, except for rare occasions, I truly am off grid Internet-wise. I can't get it at my little rental cabin, and my vision is not doing so great, so blogging on my phone is difficult. I write this, though, while snuggled into my moms couch (she has wifi) after a wonderful weekend. On Saturday two of my sisters, nieces, nephews, brother in law, mom, and a bull mastiff/pit puppy went to a local historical landmark festival. At this same place just last week, sis and I attended our docent training to be trail guides and curators for a private dinner nature preserve with a popular hiking trail on it. It really struck a nerve with me. I was stirred by the fact that species on this mountain don't exist anywhere else. It is a truly sacred place. It's called Ice Mountain in North River Mills, West Virginia. I look forward to studying and becoming mo

My prancy boy (he truly prances like a gaited horse) and I walk the moss-carpeted trails on our mountain nearly every day. Yesterday as the dulcet baritone of my Rasta Man's voice slid into my ear I tried to paint him a picture of trees talking, describe the freedom felt in following a deer path until you lose it and using the same one to get back home. He said he's glad I'm happy. But it's not just happy, its more than that. My roots just couldn't catch hold in the hot sandy soil of the islands. They curled and bent and conformed to their pot as best they could. At times they even flourished, but, as with most plants, they needed their true habitat to thrive. Here I feel them unfurling and sinking into rich black soil, wrapping round stones, and twisting through cracks in the bed rock. Creating a foundation they are. Recently I was walking my other piece of property with my agent who is also my sister and some prospective buyers and their agent. I had m

I know I haven't posted any updates since moving North, besides a few pictures on Facebook.  I don't have internet at my sweet little cabin yet, and was hesitant to get it since I was leasing month to month. I'm delighted to share with you all, though, that I spoke to the landlord and I'm good for three months now! Woo hoo.  It really is delightful here. I'd forgotten the pure magic of Spring. The apparent lack of life everywhere. Gray, black, brown, but wait, tiny hints of green just at the tips of branches. Tentative sprinkles of color tasting the still cool air. Almost time.  Redbuds splash the air boldly with their magenta blossoms competing with forsythias that are like flames shooting into the sky. Coltsfoot gingerly push aside their brown leafy blankets and raise their yellow faces just in time for my cold that I caught. Ever so cautiously the tender buds test the air. I'm reminded of a poem that Ms Misantropia ( http://msmisantropia.blogspot.com/ ) sent

The breeze ruffles mulberry leaves while Cuban Finches argues over which branch has the juiciest berries by my gate. It is a lovely sunshine you day in Nassau, and I am spending it sanding, sparking, and trying to patch up an apartment that should be gutted and renovated.  (I think the spackling compound looks like ice cream!) The wall-tastrophe above started out as what looked like bubbles under the paint, then whole sections rotted and fell away. Little by little I am getting there.  Anubis and I fly out Monday morning bright and early, so it's good I'm almost finished.  The picture above is a good reminder of what's waiting for me and what I'm working towards. My sister and my Mom an two nieces went and checked out my little cabin for me, and it's livable. The twins say the beds check out as jump able.  I'm finishing up some art bags that I will either abandon or bring North with me to sell. So, as you see, lots of work in progress around our little Nassau Ne

While many celebrate and write birthday songs for a certain Witchy Aries, because she asked it of her devotees here:  http://magalyguerrero.com/write-me-a-birthday-dirge-dark-poetry-for-the-cruellest-month-2016-day-2/ I used today's prompt to remember the forgotten midwife in this dirge-worthy day. The woman who may have welcomed the creature into this world and paid with her life; poor Luscious the Midwife, or Comadrona, in her native Spanish. The sorrowful song of Luscious, La Comadrona was recorded so her daughter's never forget,  "When birthing a witch, never wear Eau de Parfum, Mango" LAMENT FOR LUSCIOUS Oh sorrowful song Shrugged from shoulder to shoulder  Of salt-air breeze Whisper' in shadow Behind velvet fronds Of coconut trees Of claw'd talons grasp'd 'Round el cuello Of a  comadrona And no one helped Pry the fang less maw from her vein. Nadie, ni sola una persona. Now we sing of her, Luscious La Comadrona How it happen so  ...never forget! W

I had a good life I chased seagulls, lizards, and people Just me and my Human. Alone on our island  He was sick, but he recovered. He named me Kemosabe I was a friend. After the treatment  He called me Kemo. I guarded. I comforted. The supply plane came in The buzzing drove me mad,  I bit the wheels, the wings as it landed The last thing I tasted was the propeller... The new puppy is cute Who the hell needs cute? Oh keep the dog far hence,  that's friend to [My Human] My spirit will never leave the cay. My body feeds palm trees and orchids now,  But my spirit remains. I forever guard. I shall not rest.

Well here it is the day nearly over, and I've just remembered about Work In Progress Wednesday. I'm glad that I remembered though, as it gives me a chance to sit down with a cup of tea and catch up with you all. By now you'll have realized that my previous blog, Love, Light, and Wine/Catch Afire is no more. Let us not dwell on it.  Let's jump right in with the fun stuff! How was your Equinox, Lovelies? How did you observe it? I was feeling like a bit of formality would be nice this Ostara, so I spent a good bit of time on my altar and ritual. It took all day to complete, but it was wonderful putting everything else aside and sinking all my energy into creating pretties and sacred space for what feeds my soul. I painted night and day bunnies on sea grape leaves and blessed them. I laid out a rather large tarot spread, supper to share with the spirits and Divine, and made an eggshell candle and planter. Recently I found a crows feather and an owls feather, so they hold a

"You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it." — Neil Gaiman ( The Graveyard Book )  I am me. I am the me-est me that I can be. Only I can be me. You cannot be me. He cannot be me. Neither can she. Only I can be me. I have always been me, and always will be me. The me I am today is so very different from the me of a few years ago, but still very much the same.  That me was squashed into a box that was too small.  At some point I had to give it all up; the trying-to-fit-in, the living-up-to-other-peoples-expectations, the putting-myself-last-and-others-first... Give that shit up. The best day of my life, the day when I really and truly start living, is the day that I started living for ME.  If you're feeling stuck in Life, try it. Take a class without consulting another human being. Stop at the cute little