Dear Friends,
Lighten your soul. Warm your heart. Stir your imagination. Lift your eyes. Soften your mood.
Music is the miracle.
Our world needs never-ending melody…
My good friend, Debra of C-Dog fame, understands. If you are in need of a smile today check out Deb’s post today!
Thank you. May you fall asleep to childhood lullabies…
Guitarbot created while listening to, Porgy and Bess…
Dear Friends,
All last week, before the giant husband and I began our daily 5 AM walk, we could hear the ‘local’ coyotes howling with abandon. Their sad, almost infant-like wails echoed through the woods at the end of our cul-de-sac. The raw cacophony was lyrically unnerving.
This morning, however, the coyotes melodic cries were too close for comfort. Though the giant husband and I probably outweighed their pack by at least two-hundred pounds, I gripped my trusty Swiffer and the giant husband carried his heavy-duty halogen flashlight. I guess our plan was to dust them off, then show them the light 😉
When I mentioned to the giant husband that the howling could be from the elusive Chupacabra, he howled like a coyote. I told him that in Puerto Rico, 1995, goats were found with lethal puncture wounds and their bodies drained of blood. The name Chupacabra literally translates to ‘goat sucker’ in Spanish. And since the discovery of the gruesome ‘vampiresque’ goat scene, there have been random attacks on all manner of livestock. Eyewitnesses have reported Chupacabra sightings from Maine, USA to Chile to Russia…
Some folks take Chupacabras’ legend quite seriously, while others believe they are simply coyotes with mange… Below is my version of the mysterious Chupacabra. So, what do you think: Are there coyotes with mange prowling about, or could blood-sucking Chupacabras be real? Or should I just continue toting my trusty Swiffer?
Thank you. May you dream of friendly monsters with fluffy fur.
Chupacabra created in 2009 for monster project
Blogtox injection – 5 days to go
Dear Friends,
When I was little, I wore my brown hair in a cute pixie. Next, I sported a mussy shag that I adored at age ten. My chubby cheeks were in full view. As I grew into my insecure teens so grew my hair. I realized if it grew it long enough, I could hide behind it. My face would be concealed, as would my thoughts. When I found my roaring twenties, so roared my hair. If I wore it big and crazy enough, people would run. In my thirties, I grew tired of hiding, I secured my hair in a heavy ponytail – like a sword.
Hair Hiding
Heavy as my hair got, it made my heart feel lighter.
One bright day I realized, hey, this freakin’ hair is really heavy and it hurts my head. I was ready to lighten the load. What made it much easier was knowing my ‘Linus Blanket,’ went to help make others secure. It has been donated a few times, the last being October 2013.
I don’t hide anymore. I can’t. My kids make it quite impossible, as does the giant husband. They always seem to find me. I miss my old friend. So back it grows, but this time for the right reasons.
Thank you. May you all be happy in your skin, and if your skin has hair, may it be as long as you like. Dream well…
Here’s to Daphne, a dear friend taken by cancer, a long time ago. Daphne and I used to peruse wig catalogues when she was up to feeling pretty. And to my valiant Aunt Lenore, also claimed, but was ever-valiant for many years…
Little Miss Long Hair created with Prisma pencil August 21, 2014 with my hair tied back. Photo is of me and my beautiful, younger sister Dolores in 1980. Sorry if I grossed anyone out with the shot of, My Hair in a Bag, 2013
Dear Friends,
There is something so absolutely pacifying in a wagging tail or a wet nose against a palm. Animals bring magic to our lives. They make us smile-
It is so very sad when animals languish in shelters. Are we not their caretakers? It is so very sad when magnificent creatures are cut down because it is easy. One wouldn’t dare approach a gorilla bare-fisted. Our power is in body-splitting metal equipment only, we own nothing naturally. We trigger from a safe distance then take our prizes in hands and horns and leave the rest to waste. How sad for us.
I hold hope, as many of you do. We are better than those few who maim for profit. We are better than those who buy then throw on the street because the puppy didn’t fit ‘the dream.’ We will be better. We are good and kind and animals too…
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of fantastic jungles and leap from vines of silken pillows.
Peace my friends…
Delicate Daughter and Mojo the Dachshund taken in 2013, gorilla and rhino sketched in 2008
Dear Friends,
We look up from Tahiti. We look up from Andora. We look up from French Guiana. We look up from Chile. We look up from Belgium. We look up from Gibraltar. We look up from St. Vincent. We look up from Macedonia. We look up from Cuba. We look up from Armenia. We look up from Senegal. We look up from Nepal. We look up…
We all see the sky. We all share the azure. We all see the clouds. We all share the billowy white. We all see the storm. We all share the ominous gray. We all see the sun. We all share the bright yellow. We all see the sunset. We all share the crimson. We all see the moon. We all share the silver-blue. We all see the stars. We all share…
We all see…
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of the world’s people gazing up together, thankful for the sky…
Lady of Sorrows, 4′ x 3′ oil on canvas, 1997
Dear Friends,
What is it about Marilyn Monroe? Our appetite for her is limitless.
I fell for her too. I created all these Marilyn images while in college to fill bare apartment walls.
Though gorgeous, sexual beings have gone before and will after (especially today with sophisticated ‘self-improvement’ technologies) none will ever come close to Marilyn’s platinum pulchritude. What is it beyond her obvious blessings? What keeps Norma Jean ever present on our radar.
Perhaps, the perception of innocence around her persona allows us to love her above all others. It allows us to forgive her ‘naive’ transgressions. We blame Hollywood, we blame the machine for allowing her to slip through the cracks. Had her full lips creased at forty-five, would she have tarnished? Would her ‘innocence’ have turned stale? Maybe…
I don’t know about ‘candles in the wind,’ I only know Marilyn Monroe ended her life (unless you subscribe to other conspiracy theories) before life ended her. As for me, I’m still looking for Elvis and Jim.
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream of statuesque blonde angels…
(magazine pic taken in local Stop & Shop, top Marilyn: 18″ x 24″ print from zinc plate etching, middle Marilyn: 5′ x 3′ acrylic painting, bottom Marilyn 9′ conté crayon) All images painted from photographic reference, couldn’t locate original photographers’ names, if anyone knows, please pass on – all photo images are under different estates…thank you
Dear Friends,
WARNING – LONG POST, SORRY, I’VE GOTTEN MYSELF CONFUSED…
PG-13 (mild profanity)
I’ve made a horrible mistake, and now I’ve gotten myself completely confused. It happened after reading too many articles on: How to Increase Blog Traffic. Yes, it’s true. I have an evil plan. I wish to buy groceries using art/writing income rather than my current alternative – substitute teaching. This past school year, every time I walked into a classroom I thought, “AnnMarie, what the heck are you doing? You’re not a teacher, you’ve got a design degree. Besides chocolate and wine, there’s art in your blood. You should be spending 8 hours a day drawing and writing, not speaking over chattering students.”
This is my confused, hapless, helpless face-
We dream to make a living doing what we love. It’s a lovely dream that can be and is reality for some. Most of us keep going to see where the ‘going’ takes us. According to the Dear Abby’s of Blogworld, the ‘going’ should include twittering, redditing, stumbling, pintresting… I don’t do any of these ‘ing’ things. Perhaps, I should start… I did add the buttons on the bottom of my blog, though I still don’t know what half of them are.
“Commenting…” Some Abby Advisors suggest only commenting on relevant sites. I don’t think this advice is very gracious. I get the whole business model and practical reasons why, but we’re nothing if we aren’t all ‘relevant.’ We should support each other inside and outside of blogworld, regardless of what our “Abouts” say. So this advice I can’t follow.
“Follow Blog Gurus or Bloggers in the Know” Chris Brogan has been labeled a ‘blog god.’ I thought maybe a blog god is just what I need. I visited his site (Chris Brogan) as advised. He seems a decent sort and a doting dad who happens to have a myriad of speaking, writing, publishing and tech credentials. His site has loads of advice, perhaps when my head is emptied, I’ll brave another visit and try digesting some of his suggestions…
“How often to Post?” Let’s see the next piece of advice (most articles suggest blogging 3-5 x’s per week) is the one that tears me down the middle. I really need advice here. I’ve been posting everyday since February 14, 2014. I’ve started taking off weekends. Though my posts are most often text-light they take a bit of time to put together. I often feel they should run at least 2 days. Then I think – no – I should post everyday. Chris Brogan posts everyday and it has been said, “He never runs out of ideas.” I suppose that’s why he is a blog god. I’m leaning toward every other day…not sure…any suggestions would be humbly appreciated…
“Be yourself.” Who else would I be? There is no one more me than me. Is there anyone you know who is more you than you? I can’t write like anyone else but me. If I had a choice to be someone else, I guess I’d prefer smaller feet so when I buy shoes they’re as cute as their petite counterparts usually displayed.
“Observe your stats.” I stuck paintbrushes in my ears during Algebra and never took them out. I can’t look at graphs to figure out what works and what doesn’t. If I started dissecting charts I most definitely wouldn’t be me. I’d be a person who uses statistics or a person who understands them. I’ll just go on posting what I post and let the pie pieces fall where they may.
“Be controversial.” Why?
There are blogs that sometimes put me to shame. So many blogs, from old and young alike – those who suffer with debilitating illnesses, perhaps are dealing with struggling loved ones or who support noble causes…these blogs do more than just inform. In blogworld their stories, their indomitable hearts are transformative. These people fly in perfect form across the blog’s stratosphere…
There are millions of spectacular blogs, but it’s not the digital formats that are amazing (though some designs are super cool) it’s the human beings behind them – fleshy fingertips transporting their outstanding ideas into sharable formats we can enjoy, learn, discuss… When I chat with the many fascinating people I’ve met along the way, it’s the only time I’m sure of why I’m blogging. There is no greater fulfillment then meeting, sharing or conversing with kindred spirits. Blogworld doesn’t judge, we can all join – any age – any sex – any type – any mindset – any talents – we’re all created equal here.
Let’s see where was I, oh yes, I was figuring out how to buy milk and eggs. I think I’m going to let this post linger a few days while gathering my thoughts. I have made several promises this summer: to run with my son in the mornings, to watch Parks and Recreation with my daughter, to spend quality time with my husband, to read down my summer reading list, to create new art, to unslush my slush pile and to maintain friendships – both old and new,
So I’ll keep blogging onward…and hey, you never know, maybe someday I just might sell some art and writing then go to the grocery store 🙂
Best advice ever: “…Line up alphabetically, according to height…”- Casey Stengel
Peace,
AnnMarie
see you in a few days…
Dear Friends,
The delicate daughter has been raised in the art of promptness. Last week, on the way to her Kmart job, we were stopped dead in our tracks. Motorcycles – three abreast – cruised down our country lane. It was an amazing spectacle. Many woman riders were cruising by solo. Almost fifteen minutes elapsed before the last motorcycle flying a, ‘Wounded Warrior Project,’ banner cruised by. They must’ve raised quite a bit for our veterans.
I too, once owned a motorcycle. It was really cute, an all black Kawasaki 250 (if memory serves). I imagined cruising down the highway as an uber-cool, independent babe astride her slick motor-horse-
I have always been captivated my Marlon Brando and his suave biker image. If Marlon and James Dean’s genetics had ever mixed their offspring would have been into motocross-
Back to the little Kawasaki. I kept it at a good friend’s car shop. He let me practice in the shop parking lot after hours. I could make left turns with no effort. Righthand turns were a problem. I couldn’t turn right without dropping the bike. I felt off-balance and blamed it on my left-handedness. One day I said a little prayer, “Dear God, I don’t know if I should keep the bike. I can’t seem to do the ‘right’ thing. Please send me a sign. I’ll keep practicing until I hear back from you,” AnnMarie.
The very afternoon I uttered this prayer, I was driving my sporty, charcoal-grey metallic, Nissan 240SX to my friend’s shop to practice riding my motorcycle. A man in a Ferrari-owned pickup truck was making an illegal u-turn. I was coming around a blind corner doing 65 in my little sports car. We smashed. My car slid across the opposite lane of traffic. Since God sent the sign, he pushed my car fast enough so it avoided oncoming traffic. Though I was spared, the right side of my car was not. The gentleman in the truck was fine too, with only a small cut on his forehead. Well, I learned from that day to be careful of what I prayed for. I sold the motorcycle and had my car redone.
For these past 2 weeks, I’ve been driving by a sleek black motorcycle with a For Sale sign on it. I have that old feeling. I’d like to give motorcycles another try. Tonight when the giant husband opened his mail, this was in it –
I’ll take it as a sign…
Thank you and goodnight. May you ride side-by-side with Marlon and James toward a gorgeous sunset and wakeup to the glorious sun…
(motorcycle silo with funky front wheel rendered in marker, biker chick done in watercolor and pencil, Marlon/James combo created with colored pencil and marker)
Dear Friends,
Whenever I sub I think back to my years as a young student. There was always a class clown and perhaps another child or two who were regular troublemakers. The rare days when a substitute entered the classroom, we might not work as hard, but we didn’t act out. We listened without requiring numerous ultimatums to do what we knew was right (at least in school). Today, something is different.
I’ve been thinking about Hair, and the generation this musical represented. The Sixties was a time of ‘fighting’ for the concept of freedom and what that freedom meant individually. In this generation there were hippies, beatniks, flower children, nudists, love ins…right or wrong this generation was authentic.
Today’s children see and hear adult fare and emulate what they don’t understand. They latch onto wearing Bob Marley shirts without knowing what the man and his music represented, etc.. Often times when I sub, I remind students that education is the first thing taken away when others want control of their precious freedom. So, they might want to pay attention once in a while…
HAIR
(lyrics: The Flesh Failures/Let the Sunshine In)
We starve-look
At one another
Short of breath
Walking proudly in our winter coats
Wearing smells from laboratories
Facing a dying nation
Of moving paper fantasy
Listening for the new told lies
With supreme visions of lonely tunes
Somewhere
Inside something there is a rush of
Greatness
Who knows what stands in front of
Our lives
I fashion my future on films in space
Silence
Tells me secretly
Everything
Everything
Let the sunshine
Let the sunshine in…
Thank you and goodnight. May you dream dreams of bright futures…
(I rendered the Eagle in Prisma pencil on school-grade construction paper)
Dear Friends,
Once again, I was trapped in a dark room for seven hours. Keeping large classes focused on laborious computerized tests can make one quite mad. There were brief moments where student test takers dwindled. In these brief respites – white noise humming in my ears – my frazzled fingers sketched with a chewed pencil. There’s something lovable about printer paper.
I had time to doodle out two sketches, the woman above and the dude below-
Guess which one I drew first 🙂
Have a wondrous, creative and honorable Memorial Day weekend…
anntogether 