Discoveries

"But Boaz Jr. who (as I now learned) was stalking around the neighborhood looking for talent for his puppet show..."
                                                       ~ excerpt from Dr Sax

Why did it take me so long to finally discover Puppet Bike? This is exactly what I need in my life!

It was my sudden interest in Daniel Tiger from Mr Rogers that led me to Puppet Bike. Daniel Tiger was my favorite character in the whole neighborhood. They never featured him enough and I was always disappointed when the storyline didn't lead to Daniel's clock. Today I have my own meowmeow real life Daniel Tiger in Mona. She looks just like him and meowmeows just as much, all she needs is little watch. Daniel Tiger looked a lot like a vintage Steiff puppet. In trying to see if Daniel Tiger was in fact a Steiff is how I ended up at Puppet Bike.

The vintage Steiff puppets have heartbreaking faces and I dragged my best friend into looking at them on Ebay. She fell in love with them too. I don't know if I'll ever actually own one but it's fun to see someone bring a a Steiff puppet collection to life.

In looking up Steiffs I found Steiff restorationist and preservationist who do amazing work. To be able to put together a vintage stuffed animal that has been torn to pieces by a pet dog and make it look good as new is a skill that has left me speechless. I'd love to have that gift! It's really cool to know there are so many talented artists out there who work on delicate, much loved stuffed animals, not only Steiffs, and give them new life.

This week is mostly under construction

Jill Clayburgh

Years and years ago I was in bed flipping television channels. I had cable and my most favorite thing in the world was to watch TCM. I would just about watch anything on that channel even if it was in mid-movie, didn't matter. One evening I caught Jill Clayburgh dancing around a room wearing panties, a tiny tee and knee high socks. After I cycled through a few sitcoms and home improvement shows I found myself again with Jill Clayburgh, this time she was throwing up in the street with loud, heavy sax music blaring. I watched for a while and though I was intrigued, I couldn't get into this film. I turned the television off and read. I turned the television back on later and there was Jill Clayburgh again but this time eating eggs with Alan Bates and sharing the scene with a giant painting. It had been a while and I didn't know that this was even the same film. I decided to keep watching but fell asleep and woke up to the next movie.


That weekend I visited my friend Mr Gage who was talking about watching a film earlier that week that featured the artwork of an old classmate of his from the Art Students League of New York. He said it starred Jill Clayburgh. I told him I saw parts of that film and it seemed odd but I did remember the giant painting. Mr Gage said that was Paul Jenkins who did the art work for the film and they were both taught by Yasuo Kuniyoshi. He then showed me a photo he had of Kuniyoshi. We went through his old Art Students League catalogs that afternoon.

The mysterious Jill Clayburgh film was called An Unmarried Woman and we watched it from the beginning yesterday. Aside from all the dramatic overuse of saxophone in the soundtrack, there was nothing really odd about the film. I wondered why I had found it so difficult to jump into it all those years ago. The movie seemed to reference The Women a few times but An Unamarried Woman is truly a film of the 70s women's movement. I noticed that one of the actresses in the film was a very young Kelly Bishop of Gilmore Girls and Ultra Violet even had a small cameo. I also realized the reason Jill Clayburgh runs around in those knee high socks is because she wears boots through most of the movie.

Minutiae

Spring had a false start this year. The temperatures dropped and it was a cold day with blustery winds. The plants I brought out last weekend had to return to the shed. The sweaters and jackets are lingering.

I was given a beautiful Bougainvillea and a pink Jasmine that are already in bloom and would like to break out of their tiny, plastic pots. A friend of mine gave me these passion flower pods that are going to start sprouting soon. While I still want a veggie garden this year, there is much attention being given to fragrant flowers and vines. I am hoping I will find my green thumb this year and if it isn't in the veggie garden, maybe it's hidden in the fragrant flowers and vines?

I had tomatoes, cucumbers and figs last year but the excitement and sense of achievement fizzled when nothing happened after the first pairs of fruit were picked. Yes, two from each plant. Although, to be fair, I did really well with the oregano, basil, chives and mint. I just don't tend to value herbs as much as I should. Sure, the basil was awesome, we had lots of basil, tons and tons of it but I want more. I want to be one of those people who bring in bags and bags of tomatoes and squash and cucumbers to work because their friends and neighbors are just sooooooo tired of their bumper crop freebies. Despite all the basil I had I either didn't have enough or maybe I was just greedy and didn't know it.

Back to spring...we can't wait to start venturing to the farmers market and Boggy Creek on  a beautiful Saturday morning. Spending the days reading in the hammock or brunching under the patio umbrella. I wish a true, temperate spring could linger and meander into June or July. 

The last Dare

I was able to complete several tasks, projects and books this week despite the week being so chaotic against the backdrop of SXSW. Completed was the biography on Dare Wright by Jean Nathan. Dare's life ended somewhat tragically and sad. As I read the bio I saw the similarities between her life and that of Edie Beale's. However, after the death of "Big Edie", "Little Edie" carried on and was even able to perform on stage a few times as she had wished.

Since I didn't skip ahead in this book, and knew nothing of Dare Wright's life I didn't know how it would end. I found it strange and weirdly unexpected how this book shed much light on the passing of a former co-worker as both these women seemed to have walked the exact same road before their death. I struggled through the end of this book because it was just like looking into the life of this troubled co-worker. It was also hard to read of such a beautiful woman with so much talent and so loved by her extended family and friends, fall far from life and living and into a pit of despair. Our perspectives can make what is often unreal and non-existent so very real and threatening.

I still wish there was a book with nothing but Dare Wright's photographs, her entire body of work. Dare came before Cindy Sherman and I wonder if she was ever influenced by a Lonely Doll book in her childhood. Seeing the few self-portraits in the biography reminded me so much of Cindy Sherman's work. I am left wanting more of Dare and I have a feeling I am only one of many. "Revealing the Lonely Doll: The Story of Dare Wright" by Brook Ashley is a promising lead but I have found nothing in print for sale.

I have written more than one entry on Dare Wright and it is because she has left me in quite the mood. I haven't felt this way since I first discovered Grey Gardens. These are true stories of women who for one reason or another became trapped within themselves at some point in their lives. Much to offer the world, much loved and yet unable to break free and live the lives they were so capable of living. But geez, don't ever let this happen to you...live, live!

Dare... to be different

Reading the Dare Wright biography and her Lonely Doll books has me looking at dolls. I'm no collector, I only have what was left over from childhood, but they are intriguing.  Perhaps if I had more room I'd be inclined to pick up a few here and there, um, like say these Mad Men "Barbies".  I still don't care too much for the "Kens". In fact it still bugs me that my Ken doll has been naked since the mid-late 70's and I did promise us both I'd pick up an outfit somewhere but it's been almost two years and I have yet to even look at Ken doll clothes.

I also looked at Lenci dolls and saw that they issued a Lonely Doll replica a few years back for $1400 or so. But the original Lenci doll Dare used was from the 1920's.  It was Dare who replaced the doll's mohair wig with her own hair. She cute her own chignon to create a ponytail for the doll. She made other alterations to the doll, named Edith, to make her look more 1950's than 1920's.

Reading the biography on Dare from today's perspective, I don't view her as unstable. She was somewhat poorly socialized, no fault of her own. However, despite being a tad socially inept, she managed to have quite the glamorous social life. I really like this person who once lived on earth with her trunk of  hand sewn costumes, doll and awesome ideas for children's stories. She was multi-talented, so pretty and just a very interesting person. I really hate coming to the end of her biography and wish there was more out there on her. She was an individual at a time when it was difficult to stray from the ordinary.

Today thousands of adults flock to toy shows and comic-cons, investing thousands of dollars in action figures, models, toys and comics. Today thousands of adults dress up in costumes all the time and not just to attend Renaissance Fairs and comic-cons but make it part of their lifestyle year round. This freedom would have been well welcomed by those like Dare Wright and even Edie Beale of Grey Gardens who could have maybe had easier adult lives had they been born decades later.

It is cool that adults today can dress up, collect toys with nothing more than a few nerd jokes in their way. Growing up, becoming an adult doesn't mean you have to put away the scissors and glue or visits to the toy and comic book stores. It also doesn’t mean that you need to cease with all the wonder. There is still tons of childlike wonder to fill an adult life, especially if you didn't take many physics and science classes.teehee. So wonder your brains out and then go look it up. Adults don't know everything because they stop wondering (and looking stuff up).

All this being said, for my birthday I wouldn't mind receiving the  Joan or Betty doll as a gift, along with having a petting zoo delivered to my yard, a giant ice cream cake, a bubble machine and live music by the Polkadillos. That would be fun, the only thing that could trump a day like that would be time travel back to golden age of the vending machine.

Ponderings...

Two Lane Blacktop, what an awesome film! It is one of our faves but upon our most recent viewing I couldn't help but feel like I was looking back at Hwy 90 back in the 1970's. I remember so much of the route from Del Rio to San Antonio looking just like that. No Wal-Marts, just gas stations, diners, motels, some mom and pop stores and farm houses with a garage for a mechanic and lots of space in between.

I remember those old vending machines at the gas stations, the Coke machines especially with the rack for the empty, glass Coke bottles. I miss the old gas stations and the pumps. I caught the tail end of full service gas stations. There is now a furniture store sitting on what was the last full service station in Del Rio, TX. We'd get full service  in some small towns en route to San Antonio too.

Vintage vending machines are tres cool. Again, if I had the space I wouldn't mind owning a jukebox or a cigarette machine. We don't smoke but those cigarette machines remind me of real glamorous places like old steak houses decorated with heavy woods and dark reds. They remind me of those hotel lobbies with the gold trim, fancy public telephone areas and giant rubber plants and palms next to a fountain in the middle of the room.

There was a time when a cigarette machine and a plant seen behind a commercial glass door meant adults only or a cafeteria, so we'd wait for our mother's cue. If those doors opened and out leaked a heavy air scented with cologne, cigarette smoke and booze then it was definitely adults only. I loved that smell as a kid because it meant travel. These were bars in hotels and train stations in the 70's. My brother and I always checked out the vending machines, could mean candy, that yummy, salty chicken soup, ice cream, hot chocolate or maybe, if we were lucky, toys (only experienced at the San Antonio Zoo but our eyes were now wide open to that possibility and we remained forever hopeful). Because we were so attracted to vending machines and had walked into a bar thinking it was a Luby's once, the rule was to stay out of all vending machines behind glass doors. We obeyed.

Kerouac and the Haiku

American Haiku (Copyright 1959)
"The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese
Haiku. The Japanese Haiku is strictly disciplined
to seventeen syllables but since the language
structure is different I don't think American
Haikus (short three-line poems intended to be
completely packed with Void of Whole) should worry
about syllables because American speech is
something again...bursting to pop.
Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free
of all poetic trickery and make a little picture
and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi
Pastorella."
                       ~  Jack Kerouac


Early morning yellow flowers,

thinking about

the drunkards of Mexico.


No telegram today

only more leaves

fell.


Nightfall,

boy smashing dandelions

with a stick.


Holding up my

purring cat to the moon

I sighed.


Drunk as a hoot owl,

writing letters

by thunderstorm.


Empty baseball field

a robin

hops along the bench.


All day long

wearing a hat

that wasn't on my head.


Crossing the football field

coming home from work -

the lonely businessman.


After the shower

among the drenched roses

the bird thrashing in the bath.


Snap your finger

stop the world -

rain falls harder.


Nightfall,

too dark to read the page

too cold.


Following each other

my cats stop

when it thunders.


Wash hung out
by moonlight

Friday night in May.


The bottoms of my shoes

are clean

from walking in the rain.


Glow worm

sleeping on this flower -

your light's on.

"The bird hunting a locust is unaware of the hawk hunting him...”

On the weekends I love to let the chickens roam while I sit and read a book in the backyard. I'll scan the skies for hawks and watch the birds and squirrels romp or make a nest. There has been much nest building lately. I don't know much about hawks, only that they like chicken. I thought hawk season was in the fall and that they feared humans.


I then noticed that there were birds flying just below it and in the trees but it wanted chicken. I was afraid of talons in my eyes or a sharp beak going through my skull. I saw The Birds, I know what can happen. I had that sensation of wanting to move faster but feeling like I was just operating in slow motion. I have never experienced that in waking life. I have had a few dreams where I am being chased by a wild dog or some huge, angry, wild animal and I try to seek coverage in my car or my home, only to find locked doors and fumbling for a key all the while growing more and more anxious, frightened and freaked out. I don't know how those dreams end.
I do hope that there isn't a nest nearby. I love watching hawks, from afar, as they glide in the sky, way, way above me. The wing span of this thing was impressive but my admiration is in retrospect, at the time it was scary. There is a rather large nest in one of the trees and I thought it belonged to a squirrel. However, I observed a squirrel just the other day running limb to limb until it came to the nest and then freaked out, running almost falling from the tree. It was funny but now I wonder if that could that have been a hawk Mr Squirrel saw or hawk eggs?

Looking up hawk and squirrel nests on Google images, I'm discovering that they look very much alike. Eek, horrors! Well, it could go either way. Time to break out the patio table umbrella and that chicken playpen thing I bought last fall. It protects the girls while they free range, I was hoping I could keep it in the shed.

what have i done

I was in the mood for Katherine Anne Porter tonight, so in the mood for Katherine Anne Porter and I've searched my bookshelves and she has yet to turn up. My KAP reader is not to be found.

The only scenario to account for it's disappearance was it's possible placement on a small pile of books to be given away at Half-Price Books. I probably got fifty cents for it and now I have to buy it back  for $5 or maybe even $8. That frenzied gathering of so-called stale reads I was putting together a few months ago has led to a disappointing evening. I should have slowed down, I should have been more methodical. I can part with all sorts of things but not books. When will I learn?

I was too tired to walk or drive to Half-Price and yet too awake to  just forget about the whole thing. I could find the story online but I don't want to read Katherine Anne Porter online. I loathe the Kindle as well and refuse to accept it as a substitute for a book of any sort. I would rather die of frustration searching for Katherine Anne Porter's words in the files of my mind than pick up a Kindle. I'll search the files of my mind, there is a least imagery left over from her stories I have read if the exact sentences are not.  Maria Concepcion=cactus.

Well, now I am in the mood for Anais Nin. MFK Fisher always led me to KAP and she always led me to Anais Nin. I am fickle that way. Time for tea and Anais.

In Youth is Pleasure

Robert Gage at the Art Students League, New York City

2012

I don't fear 2012. Maybe I should? Hmmm, I'd like to because it seems more exciting and there is much to read on all the different catastrophes that are due to happen but I just can't seem to get all caught up in the drama that mightcouldistobe. The reason we don't know what happens in 2012 is because the Spaniards destroyed the Mayan culture. One bishop in particular, Diego De Landa Calderon, threw all their writings into a fire. A single act of disrespect and destruction has created a terrible anxiety for some individuals today.

I once saw a ruin in Quintana Roo that was part of an altar. There was a hole in the stone and it was said it corresponded with the winter solstice. Tulum was populated by large, brown and grey iguanas. They occupied the ruins. They stood on either side of entrances to what were once large rooms and entrances to what I imagined were regal quarters. I would stare these reptiles in the eye and in them seemed to be everything you ever wanted to know about the place. They lived there, slept there, bred there, the ruins were theirs. If the energy of the past slept in those rocks and they slept with them, they must hear or feel everything and therefore know.

Tulum was on a cliff overlooking the beach. It was a bit windy that day and the wind in my ears mixed with the waves on the beach below created an audible shhhhhhhhhhhh. It was a warm September morning and I wanted to feel hot sun on my skin but the sun was weakening. It was not intense like a nice July sun. It was hard to pay attention to the guide because the place inspired so many thoughts and feelings.  Stories flew in and out of my head, there was some time traveling and then I was grounded, firmly planted and present but the tour guide had gone.

I noticed someone speaking Italian was messing with an iguana. I couldn't help but dislike that. Those iguanas were really so dignified and unlike any others I had ever seen in a zoo or pet store. It was painful to watch the poor thing taunted by the same tourist who just the night before had spoken horribly to a young waiter. The Italian speaker kept asking for a limon and the waiter kept bringing him limons. Limon to the tourist was a yellow lemon but to the waiter it was a green lime, and nothing else. That was such a rude scene and I instantly disliked this group. I managed to sring together , "Arresto per favore" and smiled nervously. They just walked away. The iguana and I stared at each other for awhile then it closed one eye making it appear to wink. Made me want to curtsy but I resisted and made my way down to the beach.

When I think of 2012 I only think of these creatures unable to speak, guarding the secrets that will remain mysteries. No one knows what will happen on 12/21/2012 but my feeling is nothing cataclysmic. Just be nice to those iguanas that occupy Mayan ruins.