The Diary of Queen Mothy |
Myrtle Beach written @ 8:43 PM on August 08, 2004 Well, here we are on Sunday, just about a week after I left off. I came back from vacation last night, and the story of that odyssey is related below. But first... I got my first batch of Treillage pictures from my art opening. Rather than take up unncessary space on D-land, I'll show you a couple and then give you the link where you can see snaps from the entire show. The first picture is of partner-in-crime Arts Council capadre helping me hang a landscape of mine in the front hallway of the model home. For distant readers, that's me in the Sam-signature-double-loop hair thang and the all too early 1990s denim jacket-tied-at-the-waist-so-out-of-style look I have going: (By the way, this denim jacket was given to me by my aunt for my 18th birthday. There's a unicorn embroidered on the back, which you can't see... in which case my look is a throwback to the late 80s... but whatever.) This picture is at the actual art opening. C'est moi in a rare moment, that is, with my hair down next to-- whutdaya know-- a self-portrait with my hair down. See the resemblance? No? That's okay. Neither can I, really. Because I won't be plastering other people's faces on my diary without some risk, I'll link you to another public forum, where you can see the rest of the show. There are a lot of shots of the other artists' and a few of just my work, so check that biz-natch out here. *** Now, as for my vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, it was splendid. Because Mother's car has periodically threatened suicide, we ended up taking my car and my bro's, since Esmeralda and his Red Thang are young and spry. It's a hell of a drive from Cincinnati, but as I've grown up with long distance trips, I've adapted to the long periods sitting on my ass and found ways to amuse myself for at least twelve hours. No, I'm not talking about seeing if you can spot license plates from all fifty states (although I don't know what business anyone from Hawaii can have in Tennessee), or trying to guess what your partner is looking at when she says, "I see something green!" Yo mamma. Christine came along for the little quest, and we ended up debating the finer points of religion and politics on the way down. I also like trying to pronounce all the little towns named after Native Americans. When we passed through the Blue Ridge Mountains, we gave Squirrelx and David a fifty-shot salute... figuratively, of course. But as the trip was long Christine began getting fidgety, and I have to admit that I wanted to kill her the more she sighed and hemmed and hawed about the traffic and the heat. As if it were my fault. But whatever. After settling into the condo, we went to the beach the next day. Just our luck, tropical storm Alex was creeping up the southeastern U.S.'s coast, and landfall was expected in the next couple of days. Which meant the rip tides and the current at the shore were pretty strong. Actually it was very rough, but I still had a smashing time. We ended up visiting my aunt and uncle, as well as some friends of ours who retired to Myrtle Beach from New Jersey. Blah, blah, blah, nothing I care to report here, although it was nice seeing everyone. Naturally I did a helluva lot of shopping, as is my perogative being a woman. I bought my obligatory unicorns, some new clothes, pre-1900 photos from an antique mall, and *gasp* vanilla fudge. It's the little things in life, you know? Then Christine and I visited some psychics. Yup, we sure did. They were a mother and a daughter operating out of their home, and they sure had a lot to say. For the most part, the daughter was right about me. I am too goddamned nice to people; I have to quit working so damned much; everything that my other psychic friends told me about my future husband was true; and anyone who says I'm stubborn and anal retentive can go to hell because that's who I am and I won't change. She was an interesting psychic. Actually, I have to admit I left a little unsettled. It took me a few days to realize why, but I can say with confidence that the reason being is that she attacked all my weaknesses, which are deep-rooted and complicated. Only a shrink would be interested, really, so I won't go into particulars. One thing she did get wrong is that she said I had a bad childhood. Not true at all. Sure, there were some rough spots (who doesn't have those?), but overall I look back with satisfaction. But whatever. She was 60-40% for accuracy total. Other things of note: I have to watch out for two women I call my friends but who are not really my friends, since they keep dragging me down and will see to it that I fail. My aura is diseased with negativity due to aforementioned problems (the cynical side of me says, "Gee, can't imagine why..."). And lastly I'm not supposed to tell anyone about what was said during my reading because stuff'll get "crossed." Which, as a chick who's been to the wild psychic side and back, I can't believe for one second. Because if this stuff is meant to happen to you regardless, talking about it doesn't necessarily change a damned thing. On the other hand, I find it reaffirms life missions. But that's simply my opinion. Christine, on the other hand, was eating out of the mother's hand and flat-out refused to tell me a word. I still think she ought to have known better. I know it was nothing the rest of us didn't already tell her. I don't think I could make a habit out of going to professional psychics when all is said and done. If you constantly need someone to give you direction, you're plain lazy. If you feel better knowing what's going to happen in the future, it's like cheating on an exam. Even if psychics are wrong about some facts, they always have good advice one should follow no matter what walk of life one's from. I know, for instance, that I need to work on being tough as nails. And that I must, in fact, do something about the negativity in my aura. I also think I do know who those "two women" are. Aside from my indulgences as a tourist, my vacation was beautiful poetry. There's nothing that moves the artist in my more than the prospect of seeing the ocean. I must go down to the sea again; for the call of the running tide is a wild call-- and one that may not be denied. (famous poet I can't remember; you get a prize if you can figure it out) So I took four rolls of film of beautiful things in South Carolina: the way the shadows of the tall pines fall across a grassy stretch of land; the way the colors of the sea turn as waves crest; water rushing around the tiers of a pier; sun rise on the east coast. I'll post some as soon as I get them developed. As I don't have a digital camera, I do things old school style. Some of those pics are going to be the basis of future paintings. My brother sure had good times of a different sort. The first day we were there he met this chick from Columbus, and she didn't leave until the morning we left. Cory went with us everywhere. I even woke up one morning, walked into the living room where there was one of those pull-out couch things, and saw her sleeping next to Jon. Four days in a row. I don't think Mother was nearly as perterbed as she should have been. Sitting in the back seat of a car with those two was very unpleasant. "I hope she sends her parents a postcard from Myrtle Beach," Mom said ironically, considering Cory's folks were staying two blocks from us. Jon sure had a good time, but his girlfriend back home in the W.C. won't hear a word about it. After all, Jon said, it's only cheating if the "other woman" is in the same ZIP code. But if that were true, being married to two women in two different states would be entirely okay, right? Mormonism would be status-quo, I wager. So the ride back was also fun. Until we got stopped in traffic somewhere in the Blue Ridge for two hours. There are certainly some interesting truckers on the road. And they all seemed amused at Esmeralda. If you ever see a green Ford Escort with unicorns along the back window, you've just had a Sam Sighting. It's probably the most amusing thing a trucker has seen all day-- as they all insisted on riding my back bumper. Asses. So here I am, back in suburban Ohio. I've just begun a Carolina peach still life and have commenced teasing my cats. Ah, days of yore. I have quite a lot of bitching to do, but I want to keep this on an upbeat note. You know, trying dispell that whole "negative aura" thing. Until next time, I leave these parting words of wisdom: "Never play leap frog with a unicorn."
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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