People, places, and and the uncommonplace telling stories as they travel with Morganica (Cynthia Morgan) in mind and memory; neighbors, friends, and findings
The old folk at the Ace Hardware think I sniff glue. LOTS of glue. They're amazed my brain hasn't exploded. Yet. Maybe I should explain.
"YOU're Cynthia?" she asked, obviously aghast. "You're really not what I pictured Cynthia would look like." I know exactly what she means. People are supposed to look like their names, and it's awfully disconcerting when they don't. Me, I've always thought a Cynthia should be a tall, willowy brunette with very long fingers, huge eyes, graceful arms and extremely prominent [...]
"Would you like to sit here?" a quavering voice asked. I'd planned to grab a fast breakfast while I waited for the paint store next door to open, but the clog-your-arteries breakfast place was jammed to the gills. A grey-haired lady gestured to the empty seat beside her, inviting me to sit down. I accepted eagerly and joined her and her daughter, a plump woman in her 20s. And that was how I hired the singing housepainter.
"You need to invent," she said, "a mythology." "A who?" "A mythology. For your pendants," and she tapped one authoritatively, "You need to involve your customers in the story behind these faces." "Ahhhhhh, you want the backstory," I said, "Sure. See, I always seem to put faces in everything I sculpt, no matter what..." "No," she said impatiently, "MYTH-OL-O-GY. What [...]
"Wanna buy some cookies?" She's standing with her mom at the entrance to the grocery store, snugly bundled against the rain, reminding me that it's Girl Scout cookie season. Stacks and stacks of cookie boxes weigh down her table and an artfully handmade sign--COOKEZ 4 SAIL!--proclaims that she's open for business. I gulp and stiffen the ol' backbone. I don't need ANY cookies, not even those peanut-buttery ones, or the sweetly tangy lemon--STOP IT CYNTHIA! Besides, my neighborhood scout-lettes will eagerly sell me a box or dozen. Buying cookies from the neighborhood is a given where I live; I'd probably have to sneak strangers' cookies in under cover of darkness.
Last weekend the antmind temporarily took over my master bathroom. Thanks to perseverance and enough bugspray to float a battleship, I retook the disputed territory about fifteen minutes after they planted the flag. Yet spring is coming; this is only round 1. I'm thinking about tenting the house and letting off the formicidean equivalent of a nuclear warhead inside. Take [...]
Saturday. A dragon's flying over the cash register and out in the parking lot the drivers are totally bloody nuts. Must be Uwajimaya. Uwajimaya is the local Japanese grocery chain, but it's more like an Asian Costco; inside, there's a bookstore, homewares, appliances, all sorts of things. I'm on a mission, seeking handmade Japanese papers for various projects, a few assorted goodies from the produce aisles, and one of Miyazaki's non-English animes. Cherrybaby and I pull into the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a homicidal septuagenarian bent on achieving a prime parking space.
DISCLAIMER: I swear I am NOT making this up. Swear. "Did you know," said Tami, "That your bird just set off the burglar alarm?" Tami is a friend who also happens to clean my house every couple of weeks. We've known each other for years, we trade arttalk (she's a skilled painter and concrete sculptor), and occasionally we grab lunch or share farmer's market stuff or something. I think she believes that I come from another planet, but in her view that just makes things more interesting.
Saturday morning I get up, yawn my way down to the living room to play yoga on the Wii and notice that the trap looks a bit odd. This is the Kness TipTrap I'm talking about, I got it as part of my eviction plans for Nate, and it's been lying in wait for the furry little nuisance for a solid week, untouched. But now the trap's a bit off-kilter and the door is down... OMG!!!!! I CAUGHT NATE!!!!!!!!
File this one under "Art vs. Craft." Or maybe "Appliances." Ripley's just announced they've acquired a new artwork: A reproduction of Da Vinci's famous Last Supper...made from dryer lint. It's 14 feet long (the original, below, is about twice as long, but hey--paint and canvas are probably a lot easier to find than the right shade of dryer detritus). The [...]
