Spirits and spirit

Man, was I miserable earlier this week! I could never really remember my Mom's birthday - and I've never gotten her a card on time. So I missed her all week. Cried. Whined. Complained. Worried.

Worried over pickle faces at work. But generally, the kids were good, so I couldn't figure out why the misery. Must be because I can't quit smoking and am doomed to a lifetime of simply hanging in until it's over. The colder, greyer, much shorter days. No exercise. The Depressed Procrastinator.

Whad a grade relief to wake up wid a code in de node. Oh JOY! (Sniff) I don't need a shrink after all! Whew - I've just got that germ that's been traveling the school halls and living room walls.

Wade a mindude... Oh SHIT! This is NOT the best time to have da Code in de Node. I've got THREE performances this weekend! Oh man, talk about sucking the fun out of things.

(Note to self: Remember the words of Cher - as stupid as they sounded at the time - put one foot in front of the other)

Okay, so long as it's not freezing rain or snowing, this can be done. And dear friend Tim (who has actually written about the same week) has been a real Rock of Gibralter; simply by being there, being himself, and providing the transportation for the one step at a time.

The Spirit Walk at the Georgina Pioneer Village is the brainchild of the museum's curator, a fellow actress and friend. My role this year was to be a Mrs. R.M. Anderson, who lost her life by getting run over by a train. Fortunately for my failing memory, the script was short, and the mere thought of being caught on the tracks with one of those monster engines coming at me lent a certain "je ne sais quois" to the delivery.

Of course, that little shit in the Birthday Party Group who came close to getting smacked by this "ghost" would have lent a certain "je ne sais quois" as well, but would have caused more trouble than the kid was worth.

Still feeling just about as drained as a spirit ought to, I tried to sleep the next day, only to have my thoughts in turmoil every time I looked at the clock - I have to get up in an hour. Damn! I have to get up in a half hour. Whine, mutter, mumble. The note on this box of cold meds says I shouldn't operate a crane or any heavy equipment. I'll keep that in mind.

Nonetheless, it was a hugely successful TWO nights for the museum with great crowds and super weather. I met a fascinating couple who are also expecting their first baby; got to catch up with a few folks; bought myself a medicine bag and genuinely enjoyed the event despite myself.

Until I lay me down to bed. This was becoming a serious problem - the getting back up part. Last on the agenda was our final Second City class performance at the Mainstage. I'd been having nightmares about this all week. Now I'm too sick to worry about getting nervous.

Oh yeah? Let's get physical here and simply loose about 40 gallons of water. I swear, I had to go pee as often as I did when pregnant. Mop the brow. Note the foulness emanating from the "oh my GOD! that's me!" THANK YOU Charlene, for having the foresight to bring deodorant. THANK YOU Melanie for being so calm and supportive. THANK YOU Tim for saying it a million times and then just once more.

Then it happened - and I often wonder if heroin is like this - about 30 seconds before the lights go on and the house music is playing, there's a rush of confidence; a joy like Christmas morning...and you're scampering onstage with an ear-to-ear; the audience and you become a part of each other.

For forty brilliant minutes - some of them I actually remember - and then it's over. Technically. The Green Room crit; yes! our instructor was pleased. The old friends from our first class - where did they go? My own family! The introductions, the friends, the babbling...well, that part was just on huge big babble. Told the instructor how much this year has meant for me; and damn! I'm going to miss it.

I can't believe it's me! Especially when several people who aren't obliged to tell you that it went well came to shake hands, compliment and praise. Yes, that means a lot.

Did we get the Halloween candy for the kids? Is your permission form signed for curling? I'd better get that car oil-sprayed. Is there anything clean for work tomorrow? Shit, do I really look that fat? Do you have any Kleenex?

Samhain

Samhain (IPA: /ˈsawənʲ/) is the word for November in Irish; the Scottish Gaelic name Samhuinn is closely related. The same word was used for the first month of the ancient Celtic calendar, and in particular the first three nights of this month, the festival marking the beginning of the winter season. ...

Celtic folklore
The Samhain celebration survived in several guises as a festival dedicated to the dead. In Ireland and Scotland, the Féile na Marbh, the "festival of the dead" took place on Samhain.

Samhain Eve, in Irish and Scots Gaelic, Oidhche Shamhna, is one of the principal festivals of the Celtic calendar, and is thought to fall on or around the 31st of October. It represents the final harvest. In modern Ireland and Scotland, the name by which Halloween is known in the Gaelic language is still "Oíche/Oidhche Shamhna".

Bonfires played a large part in the festivities. Even into Christian times, villagers cast the bones of the slaughtered cattle upon the flames, cattle having a prominent place in the pre-Christian Gaelic world. The English word 'bonfire' derives from these "bone fires," but the Gaelic has no such parallel. With the bonfire ablaze, the villagers extinguished all other fires. Each family then solemnly lit its hearth from the common flame, thus bonding the families of the village together.

According to Irish mythology, during that night the great shield of Scathach was lowered, allowing the barriers between the worlds to fade and the forces of chaos to invade the realms of order, the material world conjoining with the world of the dead. At this time the spirits of the dead and those yet to be born walked amongst the living. The dead could return to the places where they had lived and food and entertainment were provided in their honour. In the three days preceding Samhain, the Sun God Lugh, maimed at Lughnassadh (August 1), dies by the hand of his Tánaiste (counterpart or heir), the Lord of Misrule. Lugh traverses the boundaries of the worlds on the first day of Samhain. His Tanist is a miser and, though shining brightly in the winter skies, he gives no warmth and does not temper the breath of the Crone, Cailleach Bheare, the north wind.

(Wikipedia)

Mammatus clouds, Hastings, Nebraska.

Mother Nature is full of surprises! Here's some great cloud photography from Hastings, Nebraska...the website explains their formation and includes a few more wondreful skies.

Halloween Costume: I've made my decision!

And this is my dog, Nietzsche. Uber-dog. Named after my favourite philosopher because he's (slightly) insane. His original name was Elmo, but he met a skunk. I figured he'd turn pink if I did the tomato juice thing - the original "Tickle Me"

Newmarket, Ontario. Welcome to my neighbourhood.

Custody Hearing a Shocking Story!

A seven-year-old boy from Toronto was at the centre of a courtroom
drama in an Ontario Superior Courthouse this morning when he challenged
a court ruling over who should have legal custody of the juvenile.

The boy has a history of being beaten repeatedly by both parents and
the judge had previously awarded custody to the boy's aunt.

The boy confirmed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and
refused to live there. When the judge then suggested that he be
placed with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they beat him
more severely than anyone.

The judge, in an unprecedented ruling, dramatically allowed the boy,
inspite of his youth and obvious inexperience, to make his own choice
as to who should have legal guardianship over him.

In front of a packed and cheering courtroom this morning, custody was
granted to the Toronto Maple Leafs as the boy stated his firm belief
that they are, in point of fact, not capable of beating anyone.

This is not only my laundry, but some days it feels like my life.

Dry Spell

I am critical of the life around me these days. Unfortunately, the urge to create; the next idea; the "muse", or whatever the hell it is, has abandonned me. This is the difference between art-making as a life-choice and art-making as a hobby, because now, it's WORK.

Off you go...enjoy yourself!

You deserve a break from everything. You're always on the run, always doing something of earth-shaking importance (well, more important than everyone else). You rule the universe you live in with sarcasm and kindness. We are certainly kept on our toes.

Go away and enjoy a bright sun on an almost-crisp autumn day. Get out on the highway; feel that motor running.

When you come home, there'll be a Thanksgiving Chicken dinner; and your living space will be tidied, cleaned and redone in autumn colours. We'll have run all over town to find a part for your sister's computer; we'll have been woken up twice by early morning phone calls from your friends.

When you come home, be sure to start swearing and yelling at the dog. When your son says he's done his chores, be sure to remind him how much he's done wrong over the past year. Make sure to remind your wife of all the places she could have looked for her sister-in-law's computer parts. Leave your dirty clothes all over the freshly cleaned and scrubbed bathroom. You'll probably need a nap, so take over the couch.

Arrive late to the table for that wonderful dinner, and tell us about that nice spot you saw today on a hill. We appreciate that. Leave your dishes all over the table, complain that you're sick and go to bed. We understand.

More thoughts on Marzipan Babies

How WOULD you eat one? Bite off it's little head? Nibble on it's feet?

From Marzipan to Snow-Globes

Snow-Globe Newborns? Okay, the mini-babies were sweet, adorable and clever, but this is starting to remind me of the mad neuro-anatomist with pickled brains on his bookcase. For more, look up Migiwa's dolls, Japan.

Why, LOTS of folks make these itty-bitty dolls!

Marcia's One of a Kind Babies: UK.

And here's the website: Marcia's One of a Kind Babies at KR Bears and Dolls, in the UK.

You're look at a few hundred POUNDS STERLING.

Want babies? Here ya go!

I must say, it was rewarding to see so many hits and the tremendous response. Sure wish the work in question was mine! BUT, in light of all this interest, I did do some research, and for those of you wishing to purchase those little babies, here's some links, and some original artists for you to contact.

Heading the list, of course, is Camille Allen, whose work was featured in the "anonymous" email.

The images today, are both from Cheryl Trottier; which made me start to think that there are some molds out there to make these things. (Which, I'm guessing you could use if you wanted to make them from marzipan)

Lastly, here's Doll Designs that has a great list of links again for miniatures, etc. etc. and anything to do related to dolls, making them, etc. etc.



I'm chuckling to myself - I don't "do" babies (in general) but enjoy kids and teenagers; the only doll I really care about is Suzie, who is 46 years old, and was taller than me when I got her for Christmas; my artwork is larger, sloppy and industrial (you can see it here)and well, as I return back to regular programming....

Bye! It's been a slice - been lovely knowing you!

The Genius behind the "Marzipan" Babies

Camille Allen makes these little lovelies, and they're NOT marzipan, but polymer clay. Which is just as well, because they look way too good to eat. Contact her, and let her know - all her information is on her website "Camille Allen's Artist Dolls and Sculptures".

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Sideline on email attachments: Moral of the story is to give credit to an original author! Not long ago, my husband sent me some tornado pictures, claimed to be have been taken locally by a friend of a colleague. He was somewhat surprised to find that I had posted them a few months earlier, here. We're still trying to figure out who the original photographer is.