the Each Week, One Beast project: week 26

A chipmunk on some milk caps, for my very own Matt, on our second anniversary.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 25

Little raccoon, just finished grooming her tail.

A bit of this and that

Here are a few new notecards I'll have at the Brooklyn Renegade Craft Fair this Saturday and Sunday. Should you be in New York, and you're in the mood to find some treasures and brave some crowds, I hope you'll come visit me!

Also, there's a little interview I did right here, for the Arts on the Square Festival, happening for the first time ever on July 27 in Scranton. The organizers for this event are really energetic, and they've got a great lineup of vendors.

Our garden in the paper!

Throughout our years here in Scranton I've made up ridiculous headlines to entertain Matt. They start out "South Side Man..." or "Scranton Woman..." and end in rather unfortunate circumstances. It's FINALLY my turn to get a real headline that starts out just like that! And I am so fortunate that it ends with "applies artistic ability to garden"! Instead of, you know, "is found, bottle in hand, passed out under a rosebush." Thanks to Patrice and Butch for a great article and photos.

Cute things I saw this week

Pretty much since we moved to Scranton nine years ago, Matt has wanted to paddle down the Lackawanna River. Every time he brought this up, I said something like "You want to paddle down the River of Poo? You want to dodge rusty upended shopping carts in our canoe, and discover that the thing you thought was a duck floating up ahead is really just a baby diaper? And then we'll die in an old partly disassembled concrete dam, after having been gored by a jagged fender? But why?"

Then yesterday morning, I was so grumpy that I said yes. Sometimes that happens. Matt researched our route and found there were no Known Obstacles, like dams, and while he couldn't promise there would be no poo, well, you can't deny a man his dreams forever.

We put the canoe on top of the truck, dropped our bicycles off at the spot we would take out of the river, and drove up to the put-in point. We put our life jackets on and paddled off on our adventure. I will just tell you the highlights.

First, while there was that sudsy sewage smell I am not real fond of, the river was actually quite pretty and cleaner that I'd expected. Second, a little chipmunk swam in front of our boat and chugged to the other side as fast as he could, across waves and tiny rapids! He made it! I squealed because I didn't think he ever would, and I was so relieved when he did. And third, we saw merganser ducklings. The tiniest one was the one I wanted, but it didn't want to get in the canoe.

When we got out, we hopped on our bikes and peddled back up to the put-in point, collected our truck, returned for canoe, and headed home. It was so fun I'd do it again.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 24

Well folks, I've crapped out, as they say. I drew a crabby duckling in a puddle, but I don't like it. It sucks. It's a suckling. It's been a long week, and that's no excuse, but I am just not up to a Beast right now. However - being someone who can wriggle her way out of almost anything, I have come up with an escape plan! It is a link to these delightful sketches my mom made at the petting zoo this week.

Oh, summer...

how lovely you are. Let's not go and rush through this too fast, okay?

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 23

Laika in her bed. I did this drawing a few weeks ago, when I wanted to remember what my constant companion looked like while we did our hardest work. Not my favorite drawing, but she is my favorite girl. She liked her bed in the breezy spot under the window.

Night in the City Garden

I'm off to my first craft show this Sunday. Clover Market happens a handful of times throughout the year in the Philly area, and features Lucky Finds for the Home. I've been busy designing my booth display, and working on some new pieces. That one up there is called Night in the City Garden, and will be available as an 11x14 print at the market. Should you be in the vicinity, I hope you'll stop by!

P.S. The catbird did just peck another strawberry to death in the garden, then fly up in the pear tree to wipe his beak on a branch. He did. I saw him.

Goodbye, old girl

I don't really have words to write this, so I guess I'll just forge ahead. Last week, I had Laika put to sleep. After many months of trying to judge how bad her pain was, I decided that discomfort now outweighed enjoyment of life. Her hip displasia had made her hind end so weak that her front legs were taking most of her weight, and beginning to look like strange, contorted stilts. She had other problems aplenty, but the hips were the worst. You wouldn't know it from the picture above, taken a few years ago... I think just a moment later, she most likely unfurled and vaulted over the arm of the chair in hot pursuit of whatever Matt was tossing in the frying pan. Hips were still in concert with spirit, back then.

I suppose I am fortunate: I have never mourned any loss of life so much. I have never made a decision so difficult. This week I have felt nauseous, overwhelmed, and lost, most of the time. The one who was beside me almost always - at desk, in garden, on hikes - for twelve years... is missing, along with part of my body and identity, it seems. The dark weight of remembering the moment in the vet's office when her soul slipped out and her head went slack... it is heavy.

But, enough about me. Let's talk about her. I met Laika at the pound. The dog catcher had brought her in. She was in the cage next to a litter of patchy brown puppies, one of which was to be mine as soon as it was old enough to be released. I visited it every day, until the day when there was Laika. She was pretty and strong and... empathic. We went out into the doggy exercise yard, and Laika demonstrated her disdain for stupid squeaky toys (not real chipmunks, duh!), and we hugged, and I cried. Rearrangements were made, and a couple days later, when no one claimed this particular flea-ridden, stumpy tailed mutt, she and I went home together.

Laika loved woods and fields. She had long legs and was good at running and jumping. She could soar, actually. She enjoyed pouncing on critters, and then crunching them. She used to collect household items and store them in her Super Snuggy (a slipper, a sweatshirt, a potted cyclamen). She stole entire sticks of butter, still in their wrappers, off the counter, leaving no evidence except... mysterious lack of entire butter stick? She had a cream-colored, crocheted family heirloom for a Blankie, and it was her Favorite. And teal Chair, her other favorite. She loved to cuddle. She loved the snow, good for chomping in the air as it fell, and rolling in when it was deep. She analyzed data through intricate ear articulation and minute olfactory intake.

She did a thing that my mom named Sniffing the Wild Air, which was eyes closed, nose tipped up, nostrils flaring in little puffs. So, instead of my theme of the past week, which has been Fucking Fuck It, Let's Get Drunk, I will strive for this, in Laika's memory: live life for the sake of sniffing the wild air; do not abide by the rest.