A Regular Girl

I want a girl who is good
and is pretty
Not so blame good that she cannot be witty.
I want a girl who is saving and thrifty
But not so stingy she cannnot dress nifty.
I want a girl who will talk
well, of course,
Not one who talks till she talks herslf hoarse,
I don't want a pinnin, a peach or a pearl--
But what I do want is a regular girl.




That is what Grandma was who passed just away.
She lived til a hundred and just a few more days.
Today we just sold her last few things away.


So my dad called and said her condo sold. Too fast. She died just before Christmas and I'm not sure I'm ready yet to let go. I was with her when she passed and it was time for her but not for me. There is that thing about the woman who is just a generation away from mom. There is that space. That glorious space that lets you just be loved and not the rest.

I have always been the keeper of the family history. My house is adorned with images of generations gone long ago in there heavy wood frames. My bathroom is adorned with the naked ladies left from my great uncle Gus, her brother. It's not porn... there are from "naturalist magazines". Grandma and Gus came to Canada just after the turn of the last century. And I still have so many things I want to talk to them about.

I miss them so.
I hope they know they are always with me.

I do have things to say

But I just haven't found the right colour ink to jot it down with yet. Oh...and I am hosting my parents at the new house tomorrow so I must dash and hide the evidence of my wayward ways.

Gardens

provence

As the sun burned like the hand of the devil himself I slaved in the garden. Dahlias have been planted and I now have 6 varieties of lavender in my yard. The Herbarium is in full swing with oregano so big it will be transplanted as a shrub and the thyme will be the new ground cover between the hydrangeas.

I do still feel there is more room for lavender. One can never have enough lavender.

If you are looking for me I'll be doing a little of this today.

The inside of my head feels like this.

www.cloudappreciationsociety.org

There are many signs which usher in the change of the seasons. The opaque tights of winter yield to spring stockings. The cloud congested skies clear and are recreated inside my tiny little head. Yes, my traditional summer cold upon me, if a couple of days early. All the more painful in that the sun is shining it’s heart out and I have misplaced my “I vant to be alone” sunglasses. This leads me to the conclusion that the only thing worse than a summer cold is a badly accessorized one.

Monk - King's Lynn Public Library, Norfolk
http://www.paranormaldatabase.com/gallery/east20.htm


Although I am still a relatively young woman who at present is still in possession of many of her marbles I secretly desire to be one of those Mad Old Ladies in the school of a Miss Havisham or Nora Desmond. I don’t want to be the gal with too many cats as they shed and make me sneeze. No, I want to be the type that always dresses in her finest finery only to wanders the halls of my decaying mansion with a cocktail in hand. In my case I do believe I would prefer the haunted library pictured above. I’d redecorate some but it will do.

I find that the only things standing in the way of this is lack of funds, the fact that people keep insisting that I leave my house to do things, like work and interact with others oh and that pesky tragedy to drive me mad. But a girl needs to have a dream.

Instead I will leave my office to a partake in a fine bottle of wine and my netflix copy of The Moderns.

Artistic Impulse

About 15 years ago I directed and produce 3 plays by Franz Xaver Kroetz in Vancouver BC. Michi’s Blood, Farmyard and Men’s Business. After which I got sucked into the world of Arts Administration. Years passed and I took a head long plunge into corporate America. It wasn’t until just recently that I’ve had the urge to direct again.

My favorite part about directing had always been the initial developing of an interpretation, the analyzing of text, the creative imaginings of what it should look and feel like. I always had a bit of a love/hate relationship with the actual directing and producing. The exhaustive process of trying to communicate my imaginings to others and let them elaborate and evolve those into a living piece.

The plays that I choose to work with by Kroetz all had to do in one way or another with the theme of how cruelty is the behavior of those who have no language for their emotions. I was obviously working out my own struggle for emotional language through these projects.

But as with everything themes change as one goes on and I’ve decided to revisit a desire that i had for another trilogy. (Apparently I have to do things in threes it’s just a thing I have) So I’ve got my index cards lined up, my colored pens and sketch book at the ready and have decided to start working. It may never get pasted the notebook stage but at least it will be something. I might even figure out what themes I’m working on at the moment that drives me to these works again. I have the feeling it won’t be as overt as in the past. Alas Mr. Kroetz it is not your plays I’m turning to this time. But the those of
Federico Garcia Lorca. I think it will be Blood Wedding, Yerma and The House of Bernarda Alba. My ideas may never make it to production but it beats watching reruns on T.V.

I wonder if in the dream I mentioned last time Leonard and I were talking about Mr. Lorca, a particular favorite of his.

Happy Birthday Mr. Cohen

Last night I had a dream in which Leonard Cohen and me drank red wine in the garden while eating sliced pears and cheese.

Lenard Cohen picture from Wit of the Staircase The guy is still hot for 70.