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| | Doty | | | Monday, November 10, 2008 (2:30 PM)
(I'm feeling contemplative) | | I named him Doty; a country term he taught me for "Old, rotten wood".
He saved my life during adolescence by giving me a tyrannical reign over 40 acres of backwoods.
The move to the US was the worst time in my life.
Culture shock in a rural community - to date, the most painful time simply because I had no coping skills.
We built a cabin in the woods - it took us an entire Summer.
I announced to my mother that I had built a cabin with a 63 year old man near the river bottoms and intended to spend weekends there.
She's usually an over reactor but this time said: "Perhaps I should meet this man".
She liked him immediately and saw him for what he is; a peaceful hermit - like a backwoods Sadhu. Raised on the same farm - he had let it fall to disrepair. He had a herd of cattle that lived freely and died naturally. They all had names. He hadn't slaughtered a cow since he inherited the farm. He's silly, unrefined, and irreverent.
So throughout school I spent most of my time with him. We were usually covered in mud, patrolling by foot or four wheeler. Sitting around the fire, mushrooming, digging up sassafras roots - whatever the season offered. We were always busy doing absolutely nothing together.
I could write pages.
Several years ago he developed diabetes and had heart surgery. He's a restless wildman and I'll never forget his IV flying out of his arm, splattering thin cumadin (sp?) blood across the room from his vivacious gesticulations. The leg that they removed his vein from for bypass was never right after that - terrible circulation. Last year he injured his foot and his toe turned black. I visited him in the hospital and he stuck his gangrenous toe in my face.
Two summers ago he had a bull that kept getting out and destroying neighbors crops. He went round and round with this bull - but it kept getting out. He admitted to me that he was so frustrated with it that he almost shot it point blank in the neighbor's field. He couldn't bring himself to do that of course. He decided that approaching 80 years of age he could no longer keep up with a herd of pet cattle - so he sold them.
I've seen him less as I've aged. He's not too far away, but life takes over. I was busy last year caring for my father, then I was busy with being depressed, then busy with artwork.
He called me yesterday morning from the hospital. I had been trying to reach him since my Corgi Beebah died - because he loved her very much. I had no idea that he has been hospitalized for months because they brought him back to amputate the toe - then finally amputated his leg - which now has MRSA in the bone.
I left immediately.
I found the same adorable man who couldn't set still. His stump - just below the knee so it still bends - is almost prehensile. He'd plunk it on his tray..He wraps it around his other leg. He'd bend and straighten it. The nurses had just re bandaged the end - but he insisted that he had to pull it off to show me..And then - yes - he stuck his MRSA stump in my face.
He cried softly over Beebah and then told me his plans:
When they fit him with a prosthetic leg he wants to paint it purple. (guaranteed to happen). Then he might "Buy a pregnant cow at the sale barn.." | | | 124 Views | 18  Thumbs Up | 9 Comments |  |
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| | Nobodyschild99 subject lines | | | Sunday, October 26, 2008 (6:14 PM)
(I'm feeling cheerful) | | Nobodyschild99 has a fun exercise in her blog. To make a list of your top ten personal favorite email subject lines.
Here's mine:
1. Final Insult
2. Hermaphrodites - real or imaginary?
3. Scottish Dickies on the Phone
4. Iran, Scranton
5. The Trilobites Need Your Loving Ears
6. Eccentric Ass
7. Chode
8. Other Chode
9. Artistic Friends are Pussies
10. Hairdo Fact
This is fun, try it! | | | | 139 Views | 16 Thumbs Up | 10 Comments | |
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| | The Wilde Gang and the Blonde Bond | | | Tuesday, October 21, 2008 (3:16 PM)
(I'm feeling Shaken not stirred) | | My parents were both teachers at the same school that we attended.
Since they worked for 1 extra hour after the students left, we required supervision. - Especially in our younger years.
The woman who took the Job "baby sitting" us teachers' kids after school was named Mrs. Wilde. Her husband worked for British Aerospace and she was a librarian/recess aide at the school.
She was attractive. She was vocal about her general dislike of children. (She and and Mr. Wilde had none -seemingly by choice). She was especially vocal about her disdain for American children. She had a beloved Daschsund named Max. - Having a dog was rare in Saudi.
For some reason, she took a liking to me. She would give my mother backhanded compliments like "Flophouse is very well behaved; for an American child."
Still in kindergarten, I was the youngest intitiate to the "Wilde Gang".
After school, we would walk through the 100 degree heat to the Library, past the desk and into a small AV room. We would sit on the floor and chit chat with each other for 5 or so minutes until the lights went out. We then proceeded to watch every James Bond film that she had on tape. She was really into James and so were we.We didn't make a sound other than the occasional Ooh and Aah. We had to be careful to pay higher respects to Sean Connery rather than Rodger Moore in order to please her.
By the time I was in 2nd grade I was completely caught up on Bond films. Goldfinger was often repeated. Looking back; I have no idea how she got her James Bond collection past customs. Every picture of a woman's arms or neck in a magazine was blacked out with marker, if two people kissed on TV it was edited out, etc.
One day, Mrs. Wilde called my mother and asked her if she and her husband could take me to the beach for a day. My mother broke the news to me with great pride - as if I was her Geisha in training and some warlord had finally anteed up. It was as if a Goddess had called for me to serve. I was psyched too and practiced my "well behaved for an American child" charm.
I went with them to "their" beach. (each company had use of a beach on the gulf). The Wildes had friends much like themselves; Married couples with no children who drove landrovers and had dogs. Sun and fun seeking Brits.
Mr. Wilde, who I was meeting for the first time, seemed very pleasant and dashing. We went out on a boat and he water skied on one ski.
I put it together:
Mr. Wilde is James Bond. This is why we check on him daily in the AV room.
After boating, we returned to the beach. The adults were focused on conversation so I naturally joined the dogs for hours of romping on a nearby sand dune.
My mother was nervous when I returned, anxious to know that I behaved and full of questions about the secret goings on of Sun worshipping childless Brits. She was impressed by the one ski tricks too. (My dad wears wingtips to the beach, to chemo, to everywhere)
One spring in Athens my brother and I saw the movie posters for "Octopussy". We informed our parents that we had to see it..To keep up.
Mom was offended by the title and refused. So dad took us.
Since then I feel that I must watch every Bond film to come down the pike. It's one of the few convictions I have in me. (My brother confides that he is the same.) 007 films remind me of a wonderful time in my life, a time when my highest aspirations were to be as well mannered as an English couples dog.
We've lost touch with Mrs. Wilde. I wonder what she thinks of the Blonde Bond? Does she think about the Wilde Gang when she buys her ticket?
I do.
*My mother decided after seeing Casino Royale that our cell phones are not living up to their potential. My Aunt asked if we just witnessed James Bond get neutered...
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| | Umatic Japanaphobe | | | Saturday, August 30, 2008 (3:00 PM)
(I'm feeling contemplative) | | I recenty read Surfcottage's blog which mentioned Richard Chamberlain
We had little media in Saudi Arabia. Movie Theaters were illegal. Television was broadcast from Bahrain for three hours a night. The last ten minutes of the "News" showed the King of Saudi being kissed by visiting dignitaries to Sousa marches. I was watching cartoons like "Felix the Cat" in the 1980s.
Most people there watched black market video tapes. Those were the days of VHS and Beta. My parents have never believed in purchasing new technology, especially if they had to drag it 8,000 miles in a suitcase only to have some Saudi customs offical decide that he wanted it for himself. Dad found a "deal" on a Umatic, which was an already ancient video player about the size of a piano bench. The tapes were gigantic and did not hold much information. I'm guessing 45 minutes?
This Umatic came with the previous owners tapes, which was fortunate because I don't believe we located anymore of them. We had 20 or so tapes, which means about 5 movies, which I watched over and over for ten years. They were:
Shogun
Bedknobs and Broomsticks
The Inlaws
Meatballs
And the entire TV series of Alex Haley's Roots. -the majority of our tapes
Roots was particularly intriguing to me. I would ask my mother questions about whipping, rape, amputation, drinking spit, slavery and rascism. Perhaps it was the obvious inequalities in Saudi that caused me to believe from our discussions that the US had not only abolished and atoned for slavery, but that back home rascism did not exist either.
Shogun, another favorite (but they all had to be favorites, right?), caused an irrational fear inside of me. This fear came from the scene where Richard Chamberlain is shamed into disrobing in public, then coerced? forced? to take a bath in a barrel. He screams bloody murder as the water scalds him.
Oddly enough, I found it funny when he was urinated upon.
My parents tooks us to a different Asian or African country every Spring. They went to attend a teachers conference. ( I thought they chose the country themselves, but hey - at that time I also thought my dad was Ronald Reagan.)
My fear was that my parents would take us to Japan where, upon arrival, I would be forced to disrobe in front of assorted Japanese people then be publicly shamed into stepping into a barrel of scalding water. Then I would die.
Every time Mom told us to pack our bags, or would make us swallow malaria pills, or give us a shot, I would say to myself "Not Japan, Not Japan, Not Japan".
*Uploaded a pic of a Umatic. -I don't know how to put a pic in the blog | | | | 165 Views | 12 Thumbs Up | 6 Comments | |
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| | Dreaming about Syd | | | Monday, August 25, 2008 (7:17 PM)
(I'm feeling amused) | | So, LV users have infiltrated my active dream life.
I dreamt it was the opening reception of my art exhibit in October.
The gallery was fairly normal, although it was missing an exterior wall which was a grassy slope.
Syd's "job" at my show was to perform an amateur fireworks display.
She was lighting them in empty cans, then unsuccessfully lobbing them down the slope, but not far enough away - so she would run after them going "ooh ohh! Oh dear, uh oh" and throw the cans a bit farther.
She was really bad at it.
I looked around and realized the gallery was not clean and had dust in the corners.
I also dreamt that Spacemonkey showed me a giant computer that he had won from JD Productions; Wheel of Fail Game Show. He told me it was the first ever Mac. | | | | 185 Views | 30 Thumbs Up | 17 Comments | |
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| | Before 8:00 AM | | | Saturday, August 9, 2008 (8:48 PM)
(I'm feeling indescribable) | | This morning my goal was to call the vet at 8' o clock.
Mr. Flophouse rose early.
She made her way to his chair at the kitchen table, labored breath, wobbley.
He patted her head and she made her way back to her bed- a tremendous effort.
I rose at 7:00.
She made her way to my chair at the kitchen table. I stroked her and told her how good she is.
She went back to her bed.
We walked over to her bed and we were petting her. We told her what a good girl she is. I told her she can go if she needs to. She doesn't need to watch over us. I said the names of everyone who loves her.
We had soft tears.
She breathed out: "Kah.................kah........kah......................kah................................................................kah"
And then she died.
Softly.
Peacefully.
Beautifully.
at
7:30.
*
She laid for an hour but the poodles were oblivious.
Mr. Flophouse dug a grave. He opened the drawer to get Bee's leash and collar which excited little Maestro greatly. So much so that he sat briefly on the deceased's head in anticipation of his own collar.
He put the collar and leash on Beebah, we carried her out and lowered her body into the grave.
We sprinkled the black dirt onto her body until she was fully covered enough to shovel the soil on top of her.
Maestro was still so Pavlovian-excited about the leash and collar that he kept falling into the grave while trying to get our attention. Then Kubrick's front leg slipped into the grave out of sheer big dog clumsyness. I uttered the quote Teddy Roosevelt's daughter said about her father, "He has to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral."
It began to rain softly the moment we finished.
I went to work on the scaffold. I stayed calm and collected. I could tell that my painting partner was hoping I would be more emotional. He kept bringing it up. It just felt right to put paint on the wall. I've been fine.......
But now that it's late I have a terrifying urge to go tear up the earth and check on her.
Sorry to end it like this. But that's how I feel right now. No need to comment again on this blog- I appreciated your comments greatly today.
| | | | 179 Views | 10 Thumbs Up | 8 Comments | |
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| | Beebah | | | Saturday, August 9, 2008 (6:30 AM)
(I'm feeling indescribable) | | She died very peacefully and beautifully this morning.
It's hard to believe she's dead because she looks so beautiful.
I'll be offline. | | | | 204 Views | 26 Thumbs Up | 18 Comments | |
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| | Update | | | Wednesday, August 6, 2008 (4:19 PM)
(I'm feeling ecstatic) | | I've got the big job! And it's BIG!
12' x 36' Mural with another artist.
I will be on LV less..(but face it, I'm addicted so who knows)
Forgive me if I slide on viewing/commenting for the next two months.
Also, the money is so good it will ruin me so expect me to be a Horse's Katoot (as my mother would say) in our future dealings.
| | | | 181 Views | 22 Thumbs Up | 13 Comments | |
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| | Waiting, Judging, volunteerism | | | Thursday, July 31, 2008 (10:12 AM)
(I'm feeling annoyed) | | I've been waiting for a big job since April. Thought I would start this monday..Now they want drawings. I don't draw well. So I'm cooking and blogging today.
I was the county fair judge for childrens' painting the other day. It was my first time judging for this agricultural organization. They have their own language and system. I was intimidated by the paperwork and the fact that I would have to interview each child about their piece.
They decided to give me a high strung mother volunteer (who admitted to no art involvement or background) to help me with the paperwork and award system. I needed her, but soon couldn't stand her.
I had five categories of paintings to judge. I was to interview each child and then check off a series of observations. For instance, did they learn something from the project?, do they conduct themselves well? technique, creativity, presentation.
Then I was to award each of them a Blue, Red, or White ribbon. ( The head told us judges that the show was 90% Blue, and she had only seen 10 white ribbons for art in 30 years). She herself, had been awarded a white for her muffin at 9 years of age because it was browned around the edges. It still hurts her.
After awarding each child in a category, I was then to give 1st through 5th place for that catagory.
So the way I understood it..The first ribbon is the artist competing against self. The second ribbon was competing with others. Capiche?
The kids were great! We had intelligent conversation, some laughs, etc. My volunteer broke in after the 3rd child to tell me I was spending too much time talking with them about their work.
"We only have til 4:00"
"What time is it now?"
"2: 30."
Her eyes wandered to my black bra strap. I have bra issues. As long as they aren't both hanging down I feel presentable.
My eyes wandered up to her out-of-date hair. A hairdresser friend of mine told me that women who stick to an out-of-date trend are trying to capture the time they had the best sex. -I wish he had never told me that.
She began to question my awards. I gave more reds than she was comfortable with. I gave them to older kids, 15-18. I explained clearly and concisly and encouragingly, "why" to each kid. Then wasted more time explaining to her.
Shouldn't blue mean something? And..aren't I the freaking judge?
She dissappeared and then came back with a painting that had been mistakenly judged by someone else in the wrong category. It had a blue ribbon attached to it. I told her that I would not have given the piece a blue. She told me that it could not be re-judged. She hung it up. I had reds on pieces next to it that were far superior.
At one point madam hairdo informed me that this maybe the first art project that many of these kids had ever done. I nodded. In my mind, I thought about the cows and fat hogs competing in the barn next door. It's nothing for the parents of these same kids to drive across the country with a trailor that costs more than my house to spend tens of thousands on a winning cow, or sperm. Nobody shows shit stock in the ring...But art? Who cares....Blue ribbons for everyone.
There was a 16 year old girl who had an intriguing painting. It was the most original by far, but it had technical and presentation problems. The organization seemed to have a lot of emphasis on following directions and behavior. (tell that to caravaggio). So according to the interview and their check-off sheet I gave her a red. When it came time to judge her piece against the others in her category, I wanted to place her 3rd.
"You can't do that!" Chirped madam hairdo.
"Why?"
" You can't place a piece with red ahead of the other blues in the catagory."
"Why not? They are two different awards, with separate messages."
"Those are our by-laws. Besides, many people from the fair will come to look and they will think you are unfair"
"Ridiculous. I will not return next year."
"That's okay!" She said with some satisfaction as she turned her back to me.
I left feeling bad for the girl who should have placed. I left wondering if volunteerism..So touted and encouraged...is part of what makes this part of the country so mediocre, ignorant, and backward.
*While blogging I have burnt the edges of Mr, Flophouse's meatloaf..White ribbon"
| | | | 195 Views | 26 Thumbs Up | 14 Comments | |
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| | Praying to Jesus on Saudia Airline | | | Sunday, July 27, 2008 (5:02 PM)
(I'm feeling grateful) | | My first dog was a desert bred saluki pup who was abandoned by the pack.
We called him a saluki (as we called all feral desert dogs) but in hindsight he must have been a cross between a saluki and a Canaan dog. He had the sight hound body and hound ears. But he was much sturdier and his coat was flashy black and white.
Dad named him Spot.
It was rare to have a dog in Saudi. Salukis were the only acceptable breed. Dogs were not allowed to be shipped into the country because they are considered by Muslim law to be unclean. Saudis are cat people. -Perhaps it's the litterbox landscape.
The second summer we had Spot, we traveled to Europe and back to the states as we always did. Spot stayed home in Saudi with a family who house sat for us.
We always made the most of our summers. Cousins, lightening bugs, marveling at all the products in the grocery store, marveling at television commercials and Sunday school.
Mom was Dutch Reformed. Dad, Liberal Quaker. Dad saw no reason to become a member so the minister refused my brother and I infant baptism. My mother ( who for a short time was in Seminary school) was hurt. She baptised us in the kitchen sink. - I believe that's called witchcraft...
I went through the motions in Sunday school. It was okay...liked the songs, especially the one about the guy who climbed up the tree. I didn't really feel anything for Jesus. I was well versed by second grade in the Sharia..At least how it pertained to not getting into trouble outside of the compound or getting my parents deported.
I had Hindu and Buddhist and Catholic friends in Saudi. (Yes, Catholic was exotic too..I had to go 8,000 miles to meet one). All religions but Islam were hush hush and hidden in the home. Islam is the shizzle in Saudi...If you were eating in a restaurant when prayer time rolled around, the staff turned off the lights, stepped out to pray and locked you in to eat in the dark.
Some kind hearted church member made mom feel like shit by insinuating that living over there might be detrimental to us kids. (The Gulf, the Red Sea, International school, Africa, Paris, Sri Lanka....Shouldn't we trade it all for the reassurance of corn and Jesus?)
Mom took it up a notch that summer. I realized that pretending to love Jesus made her happy with me and herself and her wooden shod ancestors. And since Jesus is magic; I really wanted him on my side.
I was excited to get back. We boarded Saudia airlines in Heathrow. After take off I was chattering away to my mother about Spot.
"Do you think Spot missed me?" Spot this, Spot that.
"Flophouse............About Spot....He won't be there when we get back..He..He ran away"
I unfastened my seatbelt, knelt in the aisle, and proceeded to petition Jesus, with great volume, to find Spot and guide him home by the time we arrived. This was my chance, my big chance to show my mother and Jesus that I believed in them. This was Jesus's big chance to do what he does best.
Mom gently shushed me while leading me back to the seat,
"Flophouse, you know that's inappropriate here. Besides, Jesus can't bring Spot back."
"Why not, Jesus can find him or he can tell us how to find him."
She gave me a strange look.
"He didn't run away did he?"
"..........................He ran away twice. He had the call of the wild. He heard the Saluki's in the Jebels so he wanted to go back to his family. The first time, a neighbor brought him back in his car. The second time he ran toward a compound guard. The guard shot him. He's dead."
I took it straight. I unfastened my seatbelt so that I could kneel in the aisle and pray to Jesus to bring Spot back from the dead. Or, at least let me see him one last time. Or, send me an update on his antics in heaven.
Mom was annoyed.
"I told you you can't pray to Jesus on Saudia airlines..You can pray when you get home."
I never did.
| | | | 181 Views | 24 Thumbs Up | 12 Comments | |
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