Tag: bamboo pen drawing

moving on

i can’t remember
how many times i’ve
packed
up my life
how many times i’ve
moved
in my life
i do know that this
will be the ninth time
i’ve packed up & moved
with kids
will this be the last time?
my forever home at last?
somehow
i have trouble
imagining
sitting still
& putting down
roots
no matter how many times
i tell myself
it is
the thing
to do.

my record for times moving (in both a calendar year & a 12 month period) is six times. that was in the nineties.
i spent the first almost eighteen years of my life in one house. i moved out the week i graduated high school. my first move!
i can tell you the states: illinois to iowa to illinois to virginia to kentucky to texas to kentucky to illinois to kentucky to texas to kentucky to illinois to kentucky to colorado to kentucky to texas to georgia to kentucky to wisconsin to illinois to wisconsin.
i think i got that right? maybe not. that’s from 1988 to present. that does not include moves within a state. the aforementioned six moves in a year was in normal, illinois. i can’t even remember all the places i lived there. but, all my stuff fit in my car so moving was not an ordeal like it is today where i have to spend weeks packing & then rent the biggest truck available.
yikes!
anyone want to help me with this last (???) move?

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seriously

it’s really difficult
for me
when people take me
seriously
because
i guess
then i have to
take myself
seriously?
it’s hard
to goof off
when people
are counting on
you.

this is a big problem for me. i don’t take myself seriously…then when someone else does, i am thrown for a loop. i start wondering…should i be taking myself more seriously? why don’t i take myself seriously?
i guess as a kid
i learned it was easier to laugh–to make a joke–then to feel the feelings that hurt.
taking myself seriously requires my getting past the painful part first…& i’m not always prepared to do that. it’s just easier to laugh & dismiss myself as a joke….
(even though that also hurts)

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smother me

i keep catching myself
trying to
smother me
in worries
in
things that have
to be done
now!
or else!
or else what?
i sometimes
think to ask
&
the voices
sputter out
take a step back
to plan
a new attack.

slow & steady wins the race, right? i am making myself purposely move slowly. trying to think more slowly. i was freaking out about the lawn at my new house. i use a reel mower (or as i call it, an amish mower) & the lawn was getting longer & longer.
so i asked my friend to borrow her mower. and for some reason i had to do it that day. even though if i had stopped to think, i did not have time to mow. plus i was running late for an appointment. but i ignored the voices telling me not to worry about the mower & went to get the mower anyway.
and i threw out my back lifting the mower.
and then decided i shouldn’t use it anyway.
so i took my reel mower out to amish land to have the blades sharpened. as well as getting my scythe & other lawn tools sharpened.
then, a week later, i told my boys i would pay them to mow the lawn.
sure the lawn looks like it was a victim of a slasher movie…but i am honoring my desire to live a low-impact life, giving my boys work experience as well as life experience, and taking my time instead of getting it all done now!now!now!
and my back feels much better.

(i borrowed from gustave dore again for inspiration for the inking)

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outside the box

i live
outside the box
yet still find myself
listening to the voices
shouting out
at me
from that fucking box
still find myself
projecting that box shape
onto my own life
only to berate myself
for coloring outside the lines
scribbling outside the lines
creating whole worlds
outside the lines
i could cut off my arms
cut off my legs
remove my head
& i still wouldn’t fit
inside the box
& why
why why why
would i want to stuff myself
inside
knowing i would die
kept in a box
i live
outside the box
& that
is the perfect fit
for me.

every day of my life tends to be a reminder to me that i don’t fit in. most days i am totally fine with that–some days anyway. even as a kid i wasn’t all that interested in fitting in. and the older i get, the more i realize just how non-non-conforming i am. how unconventional i am. never doing what everyone else is doing. with my flip phone, no internet, unschooling, buy-nothing-new, free store mentality….
people assume i am going to do what everyone does when they are fixing up a house. but i’m not. i’m going to be me…& that house will be an extension of me. of me & my minions.
it will be complete madness
in the best way possible.

(speaking of which, i am looking for foraged/salvaged materials & ideas for sustainable renovations. so if you have experience with this or know any good sources–let me know! also! who wants to come over & help me build walls & floors & maybe a rocket mass heater from whatever we can find to do that with?)


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cautionary tale

i aspire
to not become
a cautionary tale

(i probably already am a cautionary tale…)
on a related note…i was trying to think of a name for my house. i am thinking of naming it “madness” after the band who wrote “our house” as well as a wink to the state of mind in buying a house that needs as much love as mine does on top of my four children & myself all being a bit mad….

my house & my dog
what will one day be my studio, office, & tarot/tattoo parlor
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heavenly horses

so the story goes, in 1994 i was in virginia attending hollin’s university when one day i was on a walk and found a horse tangled up in barbed wire. the horse actually called me over to it & waited patiently as i untangled it. i knocked on the door of the house i assumed it belonged at, but there was no answer. i wanted to make sure someone knew this horse might need more attention, so i found the stable manager for hollin’s university and told her.
her answer was, “you will get your reward in heaven.”
over the years, i have never forgotten those words. as a pagan, i often turn them over in my mind…trying to understand what they mean.
i have actually used them on my children at times as it sounds like some weird brush off for an over-eager attention seeker…& it makes me laugh to say it.
lately i have started thinking about doing a story called riding horses in heaven loosely based on this.
now i am thinking it will be a graphic novel.
i have started doodling my heavenly horses….

3

have a fuck

do you ever wonder
what it’s like to be
lovable
to feel
desired
do you ever wonder
if someone will maybe
someday
look at you
like that
or are you trapped
forever
some bitch
who just
doesn’t
give a fuck
anyway.

i watched brief interviews with hideous men, and it left me very conflicted. i am a lifelong feminist even though i didn’t even know what a feminist was until i was twenty-two. i have had a history of disastrous relationships and am admittedly a very dominant female.
i wonder. should women be soft & vulnerable so men can feel important? and then i’m all like, fuck that…. but part of me kinda yearns for a protector & bread winner. & then i get mad at myself…& then i say, but why not? why can’t i be a romantic & a bad ass?
and, of course, still be a feminist… i mean, anyone can be a feminist if you believe women are just as important as men. no matter if you are a stay-at-home or a conquer-the-world (or both in my case…ha!)
i don’t know.
just wondering stuff. out loud. here.

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honey bee

he woke up suddenly. wondering. trying to remember
the last time he had seen a honey bee.
he can remember summers as a boy when it seemed
every clover crawled with them & running barefoot
would surely result in a stinger in the arch…
between the toes.
calling out in pain to bring mother running so she
could soothe you with an ice cube and soft whispers
of how you got hurt…but the bee died.
he wanted to be a farmer all his life. he lived
for tractor rides. hide & seek in the cornfields.
the smell of fresh cut hay.

lately my stories begin with scribbled thoughts inked over with drawings. i am not sure ever if i will continue the story or if it will live out it’s life as a post on my blog…. maybe one day i will come back through my journals & collect them all.

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no more tears

driving home
with an eyelash in my eye
two hours
with an eyelash in my eye
wishing
a sad song
would play on the radio
because
for the life of me
i could not
make myself
cry.

unable to make myself cry and a surprising lack of sad songs on the radio made for a painful road trip. i’m not sure i know who i am if i am unable to cry at the drop of a hat? usually i can think about my childhood…my marriages…my loneliness…or the year of 2015, and i will start crying.
apparently now, there are times, when i am not completely tragic.

speaking of crying…happy mother’s day!

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