i want
to cook for you
a bowl of beef stew
special ingredient…love
i want
to make you coffee
every morning
just the way you like it
i want
to pour you a glass of whiskey
& listen to you rant
i want
to grow tomatoes in my garden
slice & salt them
for you
i want
to draw your portrait
over & over
until i know your features
better than i know
my own.

as a mostly wild & untamed thing, it surprises me when i feel this way towards another person.
when i was nineteen & in my very first relationship, that boyfriend curled up on the floor one evening and asked me, “would you take care of me if i had polio?”
having no sense of normal polite responses i could have made, i blurted out an honest one, “no!”
is it irony or not that he ended up dumping me after i developed a cyst that required his help in the daily draining of? ha! my first experience with being let down easy.

as a child, i watched my largely unnurturing mother give all of her attention to her giant toddler of a husband. i came to believe that it was weakness to care for & to care about a man. sure, i fell in love all the time…but to care about them? to care for them? to need them?
as you can guess, i was very popular with the boys. i once made a goth industrial dude cry when i told him i didn’t need him.
he was not the first or the last man i made cry.

love ’em & leave ’em crying.
that’s me.

except for the one.
i did break up with him twice, but in the end–he destroyed me.
but this is what i am wondering.
is it the end?
i know and–if you read my blog regularly & for more than a few weeks–you know too that this seems to be a cycle for me.
i realize i still love him & am devoted to that.
then i get pissed off at myself
& at him
and vow to forget him & to find someone else.
i try that for awhile
find i can’t stomach it
and realize again how much i love him.

if you have been reading my blog the past couple of weeks…you might notice i am once again winding up to devotion.
love & caring.
for just one man.
i have my kids. i have my art. i have my homestead. he is the only addition i would make to that. he is the only one i want.
whether that is stupid, silly, sentimental, & saccharine nonsense or not….i don’t care. it’s how i feel. i have spent so much of my life going over my psyche with a fine toothed comb. i cannot deny this. whether i ever see him again or not, he is the one & the only one i want.


casting my spell

i mixed the wax
melted it fast
yellow for communication
(i just wanted to hear his voice)
blue for protection
(i’m not sure this is a good idea)
red for love
passionate love
(maybe i should have skipped the red?)
& white for purity
in my intentions
(i just wanted to hear his voice)
in the end though
the candle
is a muddy color
an earth color
“same as my heart,” i think
as i cast my spell
i dip the wick
& dip it again
the needle intertwined within
& the candle that forms
from the muddy wax
looks like a potato
a sad potato
“same as my love,” i think
as i cast
my spell.

i keep showing up naked in these self-portraits. dude. i am rarely nude in real life. maybe my inner me would rather be naked?
i dunno.
but here i am.
lumpy & nude again.

& seriously, valentine’s day is the worst for me.
all i can do is remember my best…& my most terrible valentine’s day–just a year apart, with the same person.
a million years ago.
the best was when we went and got our matching ear piercings and flew balsa wood planes in the park.
the worst was when he gave me a pair of white doc martin wingtips that i had so so so desired…and i realized he was leaving me.
men always give me the good stuff
when there is something dark
in their heart.

eclectic quixotic mama

i’m going to be the only blog
where someone makes art
talks about said art
draws & writes comics
art journals
& ink blot compositions
writes poorly constructed poetry
denies it is poetry at all
tells you her dreams
and analyzes those dreams for you
shares her tarot readings
and other pagan witchy rituals
talks about homesteading
sustainability & low-impact lifestyles
trying to be a locavore
goats, sheep, ducks, chickens, & geese
maybe turkeys too
and parenting
and depression
and other demons perching on one’s psyche
isolation & life as a pariah
horrible relationships
emotional abuse
toxic parents
also randomly volunteering recipes
& book reviews
while begging someone to talk to her
or at least to marry her
and she may or may not
mentionĀ  her menstrual cup
and how that is working out….

this is my solemn vow to you, dear reader. also, i challenge you to find another blog that offers you all that. and if you do know one, get me in touch with them so i can run away with them & we can be red-headed pirates together.

(i decided just today that i want to be a red-headed pirate…so my to-do list is to become a redhead & then become a pirate.)

speaking of dreams. i have been having crazy-ass dreams. i’m not sure what’s going on there. and i keep making out with dusty in my dreams and then waking up all pissed off. i need to figure out why i am having those dreams…and remember what fish mean in my dreams. i used to know, but i seem to have forgotten, and now i am having fish dreams like crazy.

also, i just put in a kencove fence to make more pasture because i am not sure i have enough hay for my ruminants. it occurred to me, just recently, that i could actually buy hay in the summer and store it for winter. however, i did not do that and now everyone is running low on hay (or have already sold it to someone else) due to the cold, snowy winter.
but the day was warm & pretty, and i put up this SO EASY to put up temporary electric fence. so now i have a third pasture. yay! and dreams of getting more so i can pasture in another chunk of yard where weeds & canada thistle have gone crazy mad.

plus i am working on a comic about a chicken who died this winter.
yes…a dead chicken comic.
it’s gonna be good.

stay tuned.


i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
it’s the script
we follow
i’m the bad guy
you’re the victim
did we do this
is it easier for me
to believe
i am the bad guy?
do you feel better
being the victim?
i don’t want to play
i scream
i cry
i insist
but you hand my mask
back to me
every time
i throw it down
“if i am the bad guy,”
i whisper
from behind that mask,
“why do i feel like
because you’re
the bad guy
comes the answer.

always the bad guy no matter which way i play it. i am always the bad guy. i think the other day, when we were fighting about god knows what, i am pretty sure he said i had borderline personality disorder–as he had already diagnosed my mom as having. then, of course, i spin out wondering if i do have borderline personality disorder.
(he would not clarify to me what he actually said–another fun game he likes to play with me.)

why is it so easy for him to convince me i am the bad guy? oh…right… because i already believe i am.
but! i am in the process of changing that.
but the process is slowed down by long visits from the man who strives to be my victim. that weird narcissistic sadistic trick of posing as the masochist.
my ex.
another thing i need to work on.
finding other people i can ask for help in dire times…people that are not my ex-husband.

that one is not so easy for me to remedy. in fact, i am more & more convinced that i am spending the rest of my life alone…and lonely.

witch’s garden

picking parsley
after dark
in my witch’s garden

a quiet & gentle therefore atypical page from my journal.

the other night i found myself searching under pitch black skies for some parsley for a tomato sauce i was making. i miscalculated a time or two, but once i put my hands in the lush & fragrant patch of parsley–thriving despite the cold nights here–i felt as if i had found a treasure.

sometimes i love homesteading with all my heart.

of course, later that night, i re-injured my back lifting the canning vessel onto my stove in order to can my tomato sauce…and have been in more pain than ever since.

and due to re-injuring my injury, i have been unable to send dusty back to wisconsin…sacrificing my mental health so that my back can mend…

so! much more anguished journal entries to come!


the bat card…rebirth

i have woven
love & rejection
my earliest experiences with love
being rejection

people become important to me
once they have
rejected me
i focus on this rejection
instead of

i look for my worth
in the eyes
of people…of men
who reject me.

i feel anger that i am not
i let my anger become
who i am.

i am not my anger.
i am not that reflection
i see
in the eyes
of people who cannot


when i was just 19
i pulled a knife on a guy
i guess
he was my boss
i pulled a knife on my boss
because he kept
grabbing my ass
not just grabbing
but fondling
my ass
i really don’t know
if i ever said “no”
i was a good girl
taught to
to be pleasant
to say “yes” to men
especially those with authority
be pleasant
so he would molest me
as i tried to do my job
working in this kitchen
in this college town
just 19 years old
and i probably
nicely moved away
nicely tried to keep my distance
nicely smiled
one day
i grabbed a kitchen knife after he touched me
not a sharp one
a notorious dull one in fact
but i grabbed a knife
and held it out
as a threat
as i smiled.
he smiled too
and walked into the knife
to show he wasn’t afraid of me
it barely scratched him
if at all…
he never touched me again


i have been embarrassed about this for years. i can’t believe i pulled a knife on someone. not just someone, but my boss. i don’t talk about this story because i felt like i was in the wrong. all these years, i have felt like i was in the wrong for doing it. i beat myself up and tear myself down for not having better coping mechanisms.

but i really didn’t. i was never taught to stand up for myself. quite the opposite.

so i snapped and went into fight or flight. flight hadn’t been working out for me. so i fought. and i won.

so why do i look back at this memory & cringe?

fuck that bullshit.

today i am cheering for that poor little girl. today i’m ready to tell him where the fuck to get the fuck off. fuck intimidation. fuck molestation. fuck all that. i am proud of myself for finally standing up for myself…even if it was in a pretty drastic way.