NINJA WARRIOR FOR LIFE

WELL OK, I guess I can take the caps lock off now.  At least for a moment.  But here's the thing . . . so just like everyone else I have had rent, bills, health challenges, broken bone (s), dogs to walk, Ulysses to read, a future to figure out, etc etc etc ad nauseum as always and what do I spend my time doing? To be fair, healing from my breaks AND a monster of a cold (must have been The Terror I was reading and watching-so much ice! so much cold! so many frozen body parts! oh dear gawd-I became a bit obsessed with these historical fictions which are truly the thing of scifi adventures-these MEN who go out and explore places that are trying to KILL THEM!!! and then AFTER The Terror I was forced to read Into Thin Air and then I HAD to spend hours and hours researching those people climbing and dying and blaming each other!!!! WHEW!!!) but anyway, all of the above necessitated some serious bedtime but HOLY MOTHER OF GAWD!!!! how in the WORLD is it May? And a few days into May?

 I know that you have been sitting and waiting so, so patiently for my next blogpost where I ONCE AGAIN will claim to be saving the world or some such nonsense AND HERE IT IS!!! I have not managed to save the world YET, but here is my blog post where I will fling myself at your feet and BEG YOU to direct people to my blog and my etsy shop.  Out here on the far, far reaches of Recognition Highway I have been polishing off my shingle for upwards of 4 or 5 decades and oh my goodness!!! CRICKETS seem to be my constant companions-so come on dear long suffering readers! You don't have to buy anything. You don't have to even LIKE anything. But would you please click around, notice what I have managed to get online-I REFUSE to talk about how long it took me!!! and leave me with a happy face, a congratulations wink, a thumbs up, share my blog and etsy store, ANYTHING so that I don't feel like I am communicating from the land of missed opportunity.

I thank you. I am deeply humbled that you even wade through these words. Am I unique? Special? HARDLY AND NO. But here's the thing . . . even though there are a BILLION blogs and a BILLION etsy stores-this is my tiny, tiny corner of my world and please, I am inviting you in. OK.  I am exhausted and yes, you know it, back to Ulysses!!!!!! LOVE ALWAYS.  Here is my Etsy store: go to Etsy and type in xanxan-that should get you there. I want to mail away EVERYTHING-especially my art dresses so if you want something-email me. for gawd's sake I'll send it to you!!! Now I am seriously heading off for a solid hour with my favorite James. xoxox

Lise Lange
xanxan.blogspot.com
Etsy shop  xanxan

BEGIN AGAIN                                 MARCH 22       2018                                   WORK

                                                        CALL ME  AN "ARTIVIST"

Good morning. You can tell by my oh so serious tone that I have something world changing to report from the trenches of artistic endeavor and unrelenting creativity.  Don't worry, my prose will stay wordy and flowery enough to spice up your coffee and web searching.  I am going to explain my new concept and reality of WORK through my three photos uploaded before you. 

                                                        "IT'S BEEN AWHILE"

1) The Little Pieced Swing Coat with Velvet and Silk

Having spent a lifetime, literally my lifetime, learning to sew, making a billion presents for people, clothing for my beloved children and children of friends, stitching hundreds and hundreds of theatre costumes, building fabric sculptures and creatures, researching designers and fashion shows, learning techniques from some of the local best, selling quilts and dolls and clothing and everything hand stitched, and teaching myself every imaginable stitching trick in the proverbial sewing book, I landed on this foreign shore of desert.  I WAS STRAIGHT UP SHIPWRECKED AND EXHAUSTED. In one of my characteristic fits of straightening up, I had cleared my house of my very last bits of hoarded fabrics and costumes.  All that remained of my stash was a small wicker basket of folded and refolded fabric scraps donated to me by one of my best friends, my dragon's lair pile of thread, and my workbox of collected treasures; buttons and bits of ribbon from Paris (!), found rare pieces of lace and ribbon, and all manner of sequins and rhinestones, because, c'mon, you have always got to have shiny! And there I sat, tables cleared, floors relatively cleaned, and . . . and . . .
                                                        well, NOTHING HAPPENED!
  No lightening bolt of brilliant new inspiration, no neon lit path of illumination, no clearly defined direction, NOTHING. It was simply me, sitting in my fairly empty house, wondering NOW WHAT? Recovering from a broken hip (yes, I just said those words) gave me plenty of opportunity to research work, the economy, how to survive "old" age with little money, how to keep busy, work with purpose, the meaning of life, why do anything, etc etc etc and just as I was about to take up permanent residence way down at the very soggy bottom of the rabbit hole-I found this long hidden photograph of a little swing coat I had pieced and trimmed and ??? Here is where the AHA moment I had been waiting for occurred.  Just how had I made something so beautiful and where did it go? AND MOST OF ALL, HOW COULD I EVEN THINK OF DOING ANYTHING ELSE?

2) A Quote about Art from Billy Pilgrim's Creator

And yes, thank you, I have read the article about his new biography claiming that he was bitter, angry, and depressed in his later years.  He had quite a life. Interesting the expectations we have of each other as we take our turns facing the grim reaper. The judging and comparisons just never stop. Oh.
Wait.
I apologize. It is morning after all and I was talking about me and my AHA moment and filling you in on my new WORK.
OK.
But Vonnegut is correct in his quote about art I believe.  I simply cannot stop myself from seeing patterns everywhere, beauty in the commonplace corners of life, and wanting to create wonderful costumes and clothing ALL THE TIME.  It is only when I endlessly search the MOUNTAIN of goods online that I despair . . . in no way can I add to such excess.  I have been trying to "start a business making things" ever since I first landed on the West Coast many, many years ago. I seriously yellow legal padded my arrival and subsequent quilt making and selling in Oregon, through stitching alterations and years at the various Beach Shows, art markets, local artists stores, and my first ETSY attempt.  Honestly, all of that sewing work met with limited success and all those endeavors and sales were far, far from being able to support me.  Except when I lived in Eugene, Oregon in a tiny house with a tiny rent, many cats, and much, much rain.  I did quite well.  It might have been the cats.

Now, however, cotton has gone from affordable and available in many downtown stores to frightfully expensive-organic is even more costly-and our fabric stores have closed.  Except for a precious few stores down south of me, I must commit to hours online ordering fabric from small photographs.  I can no longer JUSTIFY the endless production and consumption, the even more endless manufacturing, the even more and more endless stockpiling of clothing stitched in a small very small part by me and all of the others (who seriously NEEDS all of this clothing?) AND most of all, I can no longer buy high priced yardage with a clear conscience.

                                                    The Beginning of Clarity (THANK GAWD)

My new WORK has to be sustainable, environmentally protective, and worthwhile in all ways I was proclaiming to myself as my eyes came to rest on the small wicker basket of scraps from one of my best friends.  And there was my answer to a few years of searching, questioning, and researching-seriously-"right in front of me" as a supportive close friend recently wrote to me.  Rather than looking at that small pile as dwindling resources and evidence of my failure (?) to thrive as a creator-those donated scraps EMPOWERED me to do what I do as best as I can.

                                              ~LIVING MY WORK LIFE AS AN ARTIVIST!!

3) She is a beauty, isn't she? Her smile literally can and does light up the world.  She is unlimited potential.  She is passionate and determined and constantly curious.  And even though her beautiful, beautiful smiling face would make you smile right back, even through your computer,  there is something about this picture I DEARLY AND ABSOLUTELY LOVE.  I look at this picture when I am wavering in my beliefs.  When it is JUST SO MUCH EASIER to keep consuming and kidding myself as I stand in line to buy yards of new fabric, mail away for expensive hipster patterns, pretend that my one last plastic bag, my one more non-essential purchase is OK because it will make me feel better.  I look at this picture when I am thinking beyond myself and my lifetime to the resources and communities and ways of living that will be left when I am gone and she is an adult.  I owe her everything.  The greatest gift I can give my granddaughter is the gift she demands of me . . . to care deeply about our environment, to protect and nurture all the animals, and to hold in respect and great reverence our jewel of a planet.  I must make good on this-for her sake. 

            So here is my new WORK proposal and there are many ways you can help me.
                                                   
                  I plan to have my revitalized ETSY store open by mid-April at the latest.
                                                         My store is named xanxan.

ALL OF MY CLOTHING listed for sale will be made from thrift store finds, second-hand donations, fabric which is thrifted as well, and donated from friends near and far.   In order to quiet my voice that tells me that nothing I ever do is "good enough" I am going to admit straight up that nothing will be perfect.  My stitching is impeccable and I will ALWAYS do my best to satisfy EACH AND EVERY customer, but I live in the real world . . . with imperfections, second-hand clothing, fabric from ancient stashes, too many late nights and long hours, and rescue dogs.  You will never find me posting a sanitized glossy lineup of perfection photos.  I will guarantee that EVERYTHING YOU BUY from me is made with all of the love and creativity I've got, that part of the proceeds from every sale will go to a worthy cause that you will help me choose, and that you will be helping us both be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

                                    I THINK THAT IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING.

I truly believe connection is our greatest resource and survival tool, but as a loan wolf I am uneasy in many social situations.  However, creating beautiful things and writing is my bag baby and finally FINALLY I can wallow in the potential of doing both and connecting with like minded people. When I feel as though there is NOTHING I can do to help the sad and sorry situations in our world (I won't bother to laundry list them at this moment-remember, we are being helpful here in this Brave New WORK World) I can make a precious something to send to someone AND by using recycled and repurposed clothing and fabric I am NOT contributing to our collective vast waste piles of unnecessary everything. NO FAST FASHION EVER!!!!
                             
                                                HOW YOU CAN BE AN ARTIVIST TOO

1) read my blog and dialogue with me!
2) send my blog out to everyone you know!
3) visit my ETSY store and heart me for gawd's sake! look how sincere I am!
4) send my ETSY link to everyone you know!
5) send me your stashes of fabric that you know you will never use! Or bring them to me!
6) send me your questions and ideas as you start repurposing and upcycling clothes!
7) NBN!! I make two exceptions to my "never buy new" policy. I'll bet you know what they are!
8) let me know if you would like some sewing lessons!
9) stop using plastic. just stop.
10) send me ideas for worthy causes that need a bit of financial fuel!

                            A FEW LAST WORDS (FOR NOW) AND BRASS TACKS

Am I wealthy? Oh dear gawd no, I live month to month like most of us. But as an artist and an ARTIVIST more importantly, I do have a bit of magic in my toolkit. And this is the best of what I know: not having enough money to survive is cruel.  Poverty is ugly and deadly. Yet helplessly standing by as entire populations fall victim to cruelty, reading endless articles captioned with photos of dying polar bears, and witnessing the violence around us-commonplace and impossible to control it seems-has caused me a death level amount of anxiety. I have practically wrung my hands off my wrists in despair and paralysis. Almost every single cause asks one thing of me and ONE THING ONLY-send MONEY.  That I do not have. But I have my artistic heart, my willingness to comfort the friendless, and a burning, all consuming desire to leave a legacy of doing my part to transform WORK into art and art into ACTION. This is the best I can do.  With your help I can craft this business-MY WORK-my ETSY shop:

                                                               xanxan

                      to truly stand for a WORK which is worthwhile and meaningful.
                             Let's shove off this shore and launch this tiny boat!!!!!

Have you finished your coffee? Well, THANK YOU for reading and in acknowledgment of the beauty around us I'll finish with the ending poem from "The Shape of Water".
                                                         And LOVE ALWAYS!!!

"Unable to perceive the shape of you, I find you all around me.  Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere."

                                                         

the jabberwocky speaks

dearest readers, in the midst of madness, how sweet a shelter, how warm the retreat. as my brain explodes with the maddening rush of post after post layered like so much layers of onion . . . black, white, blame, destruction, the deaths of innocents, bomb blasts to rival the insanity of the movie Brazil, talking heads crying every imaginable bit of nonsense louder than we can ever unhear, live threats, the sheer lunacy of gun counts higher than ever imagined, nerves on edge, churches filled with the masses praying for victims almost forgotten by the tweeting population, and the whirlwind of despair and heartbreak threatening to blow us away to some far distant shadowland of no return-secretly, sincerely, and with all my heart, i think it all comes down to this: a place of comfort and warmth and love. a spot nested with beings and books and things that bring hope and solace when the landscape outside is one of uncertainty, when the cyberscape is like feelings on crack, when control is realized as illusion, and power as a toy of great potential danger. our hearts are bleeding for the dead EVERY FUCKING WHERE. please oh please no more posts of caring about one horrible, unspeakable tragedy more than another. we all care. we are all heartbbroken. HEART BROKEN as to how, just tell me the fuck how, we can help to STOP all of the killing and war. i want peace more than anything in this life FOR FUCKING EVERYONE. we want peace. i know so many who just want peace to prevail so that we can take better care of each other, our beloved fellow creatures, our beautiful, precious, ONLY planet. so that EVERY SINGLE person and animal can feel like i do right at this moment. to echo my beloved son-in-love who wrote with such beauty about the life he is making with my beloved daughter muse: YES. my beloved readers-you-have suffered through "Scout" and my blog and my FB rants and i know you know that i am no stranger to loss and pain, as most of us are, and you also know that it has taken me a fucking lifetime to learn how to warm to myself-but today, with rain falling right outside of that big window in my photograph, and the smell from the grateful dusty lot absolutely unbelievable, with stacks and stacks of books around and above me-yes i am well aware that when the big one comes i will be crushed, but death by books would probably be my number one choice anyway, and tank girl akira and "the crossing" by my daughter on the wall and my beautiful, beautiful children right next to me-see them? all grown up and walking the world themselves?, and my little hardworking computer with sancho permanently on the screen, and oh yes-two of my pack just waiting for a bed day. my lucky dog and lil bro with his favorite bone, non-vegan, i am sorry cow, all rolled up with french perfum and plenty of cookie crumbs and dog hair oh the sweaters i could knit and fox and sanchos pictures in front of yet another stack of books-even though i will NEVER understand the inevitability-wonderful but still challenging-of the only people on the planet i truly truly love not being with me everyday-EXCEPT for that reality, i have found a moment, a small and bohemian, solidly always a gypsy, i have found AND made this moment this place in time for me, and EVEN IF a horrible event takes me from the ones i love, i will die with this place of great beauty and peace in my life knowing that i was lucky enough to have found it, made it, and embraced it. and because i have found this and know it? i wish it for anyone that struggles through my writing. i wish and hope that you have a place of solace and comfort and love and warmth and beauty for yourself, for all those you love. no matter what the form, design, shape or substance. a sanctuary. a messy nest like mine. because in truth i feel we are fragile and afraid sometimes, such delicate puffs of air in our soft as a jellyfish skin. we are brilliant and flawed, kind and cruel, driven and lazy. our lives a brief flash in the cosmic star scape and i believe we are free to find and make our own truths, create and share our paths of beauty and kindness and generosity, and make difficult, challenging choices with all the love and tenderness and compassion we can find. please oh please let us create peace together. let us feed the hungry, house the street people, cherish the wise ones, tend our gardens, and be kind shepherds to our animal companions. i could let go, if tragedy found me now, but until i burst into flames on that pyre-i will spend all my remaining moments working for peace and love and comfort for everyone. from the mother of dogs, on this day of the deepest sorrow in so many places, rain gently falling, buried deeply in my blankets, i send you love and comfort with all my heart. the jabberwocky has spoken! and LOVE ALWAYS!!! VIVA LA VIDA!!!

Supernatural Law

                                 Truly. You are seeing this correctly. No, I have not gone
                                               "fade to white", but this frame has for sure.

           Ah. Today is and must be a tremendous mashup of mega proportions. Why? I will tell you why . . . because yellow wall paper style-in a good way!!!!-I am, to copycat my favorite anti-depression robot man-attempting to FORGE MEANING and build BUILD IDENTITY in this oh so swiftly moving and fast escaping helium filled ballon glistening rainbow gobsmack of a brilliant jewel of a planet sailing through galaxies unknown. Ebola count? Staggering to go back to March when numbers were low and it seemed barely an evil whisper among those who knew. Those on the front lines as we love to say. Fast forward to NOW when the debate is flying as to how best to help? Oh my goodness, I remember when I had two sticks as legs and hair that stuck pretty much straight out thanks to an ill met match with some hair clippers-1960's style-when I was reading a magazine about a population far far away that was starving. Little kids with rib cages like cages and corpses on streets amounting to not much more than a skeleton and on and on-the photos were black and white stark. I had a kids morbid fascination with hunger to death, all things dead, and people dying as they lived but I CAN CLEARLY REMEMBER, even to this day, reading commentary that proposed letting the people starve to death . . . that our planet was crowded enough and this was nature's way of cutting the weak. And now, once again, I read the same thoughts and rational on the Ebola hotlines. Contrast those ideas with the testimony of the health worker who discusses how her children are grown and she has nothing to lose and she must respond to a humanitarian need despite fears for her own safety and life. I know that I could never be that brave.

                                   From my back deck. Remember I told you that I ripped off part
                                    of the fence? Now I can see for miles and the trade winds
                                                               are strong.

And speaking of superheroes . . . so, discover for yourself why I am obssessed and moved to tears by the graphic novel of RECALL AND GIVEN. It should be easy for you to find, I am not going to provide links or any of that nonsense-just read about this comic. It is a story of love that knocks me off my feet. I can time travel with this one as well, remembering back to a solid couple of years dedicated to reading every comic and graphic novel I could get my hands on-back in the superhero days, back in the collecting days, back in the curl up and read days. Recall and Given. It is a beautiful thing. And moving right along to more beautiful things . . . rather than bemoan this odd time slip of NOT working two and three jobs at a time, working like an idiot, working too hard, and working hard enough to take my back out, for the MOST PART, I have had the time of my life visiting my beloved family, spending more time than ever with actual friends, spoiling the hell out of my dogs-yep, the hell is gone-,  researching everything from "where are the survivor season one players now" to teaching jobs around the country, cake recipes during Mozart's lifetime to how to comfort an old dog, and watching old movies, bad reality, practicing my craft and sullen art, and READING. Mostly I have discovered, rediscovered (which is one of the gems about staying on the planet this long REdiscovering past loves) my first love in this life-READING. And as I told you last post, I have read my way through a brazillion cyber articles, 15 and counting books, and magazine articles by the dozens. For the first time in a decade I have moved my chess piece of "reading" from a drowsy half hour before passing out, to hours during the day-HOURS-outside on my front deck, in my back yard under the Totoro tree, and sitting up in bed with a huge mug of coffee.  
 For this thinking and reconnecting and forging and building time, unexpected, I am eternally grateful. Grateful to whom you might ask? Yes. That is a valid question. Type it in. Thousands have asked the same thing. Here is the path I am choosing and putting into practice right now: I am grateful to THE PEOPLE in my life. I am grateful for children that care enough to listen, friends that care enough to hunt me down, and strangers that care enough to share a bit of conversation. Under the great vast umbrella of gratitude deserving people I can feel myself remembering to find tenderness and humor and joy. "Being grateful" just wasn't enough for me . . . I have to know-grateful to whom? For what? And when I take an unknown out of the grateful equation and put in people that I know, it is powerful. Now the smallest exchange holds potential for worthy connection and the ordinary realism becomes magic. Magic Realism is the name of the place where I always want to live. Always.

                                   The darkest of chocolate, pumpkin organic!, and raspberry
                                      buttercream with ginger and chocolate chips.
                                                       Happy First Day of Fall!

I guess what this mashup is attempting is a sort out, of sorts, of a brain packed with why can't we? and we must! and a virtual download of heartache over our mess of an existence, my gratitude for the people who care for me and love me and make my life wonderful,  apprehension shading into anticipation of working times ahead-oh those theatre hours!!-and an all around treasure chest of  a little girl with her teacup poodle walking on State, bike racks permanently mounted in the street of a city that can't be bothered to accomodate middle income, a man telling me that I smelled wonderful-better than the deli counter he was surrounded by, a guaranteed spot in this years Faeriefest-yes, seriously, I am the faerie cake baker!!, birds cuddling down much earlier and with no quieting of goodnights, a slight chill settling in,  the promise of a new painting to grace the absolutely covered walls of my Pandora's box home, children busy in their own lives, Sancho still presiding over Command Central, my foor leggeds greeting me like the windups in Blade Runner,  and one FINAL QUESTION which is one of my favorite and best mysteries so NO I won't google it and PLEASE do not tell me . . . but go back and look at my first two photos and you will know why I am enamoured of this one particular time every single evening when the SKY FADES TO WHITE!!! I am always walking around, my jackrabbit self, watching and wondering and trying to capture those moments and oh my goodness-why does the evening sky fade from blue to white? WHY THE WHITE?
And my sign off for this glorious day and night that will never come again? If you are one of my very special people, please know that I am grateful for all you have given, all we have shared and will share, and for the time we have spent together. My door is always open, my dogs are always barking rascals, I rarely have food and I don't drink wine, you will most likely find me buried deep in something either profound or absurd, but you are ALWAYS WELCOME to brave my Bohemian Paradise and ponder the big and small questions. Oh. And eat cupcakes. LOVE ALWAYS!!
                                                                                                                                                           

Beauty and the Beast

                                     This is where i spent some of the happiest mornings of my life.


Tonight is a remembering back one, a casting in reverse to some days early in May when i felt alive-really alive-not just content, or sun-baked, or comfortable-but engaged and alert and excited. i had that happy little kid feeling of anxious anticipation . . .  perhaps i will meet the man of my dreams walking down the street. maybe i will end up behind the bagel counter, serious, sincere, and slinging bagels and tofu spinach spread with the best of them. it could be that i meet up with writers not afraid to sit in dark corners with dim lights in order to hash out characters unsavory and climates not tropical. the person catching my eye on the train across from me smiles and i notice that she has orange dyed hair and screaming bright neon blue running shoes. she has a death grip on her high tech computer bag. i love her. this city where i spent five glorious days was just like me! constantly moving, rarely sleeping, and usually too loud. i smell better than this place, for sure, not everyone reeks of violet french perfume-some prefer the stench of rat, but there was so much talking! and eating at odd hours! and crowds of pigeons, people, taxis, signs, and food carts. i loved every single caffeine fueled, high energy, pavement pounding second of my time there. no regrets. no regrets. i felt alive. i felt glad to be human, glad to be busy, glad for discovery around every corner, glad for experiences planned and unexpected, glad for the connection and conversation.

                                This was the sign on the front outside wall of the bagel cafe.

When people ask me if i enjoyed my visit and i explode with happiness just being asked, more often than not they scoff and tell me that if i lived there i would feel differently. you were just visiting, they say, you would get so tired of the people and the trains and the crowds and the stench. and that is precisely when i know that they have not done their homework on me. oh so wrong they are! i have so much energy i am banging off the walls of this city. how do you costume 300 kids people ask? why do you work so much? don't you ever want to relax? but here's the thing, ever since i was little i have had this internal voice-louder than a heartbeat-that lets me know that my time on earth is limited. i hear the tick and tock of my life's moments flying by and believe you me, even in the heart of the most beautiful, perfect, tranquil city on the planet-i can still hear that clock coming for me. it seems as though there is still so much to learn, and experience, and discover, and know and just witness! i am the eternal snoop just going everywhere with my notebook and noticing and writing down ideas and impressions and trying to capture my time here in some measure of a way. the past couple of years have brought me too much time spent rewatching the same films, living for the next installment of some favorite show, and sitting on my ass in front of a computer. wait! i am not old yet! please don't roll me off to some corner and sit me in front of a television! the streets are calling, dodging those taxis, admiring the smartly dressed, walking dozens of miles a day, feeling the weather change, clouds rolling in and out eclipsed by building of super human size, have i truly spent my time? am i too old now to do much more than dream?

                                                    So here is what i did do.

i realized that if i tore the porch fence wall completely off of my back deck, then when i sit in my hauled off the street wingback chair i can see out into sancho's field next to me and practically for forever. it feels good. it doesn't look that impressive, for sure thousands of miles away from the scene i just described to you, but i do feel a bit better about life. tearing off that wall let's me glimpse the old theatre and got me to spend a couple of days felling waist high weeds in the field itself-like i did two years ago trying to recover from sancho's death. and i didn't tear the wall off-i got my screwdriver and spent the better part of an afternoon removing it in an oh so professional way. if you are young and reading my words, do a better job than i did at staying connected and vital so that when you are as old as me you don't have to be constantly dredging up your cups and whining in them trying to figure out what the hell to do next.  and it also doesn't escape me that i blogged (still so hate that word) for a solid month straight LAST september so i know that part of my restless about to break down the walls of my cage going bat shit crazy gypsy wild woman spirit is simply a matter of being in between theatre seasons. work will start again soon and there will be precious little time to sit in my chair and dream about anything. but right now, while the sun is setting and another night closing in, another day gone, i am remembering back to a time when my feet hit the pavement and i felt home again. really home. like i belonged. LOVE ALWAYS!!

Bourbonized and Beyond

a little known fact about me . . . my father drank. Like the fathers in "Mad Men". It wasn't quite as glamorous in reality, I never knew what side of the bread my toast was buttered on (deliberate skewing of everything there), but he effectively scared the dickens out of me as to ever relaxing with a wee bit of anything pretty much for the rest of my life. Wait. OK. So upon reflection I guess he is not here and I still am-so yeah, but today was a day of days. After quite a few of those days. Actually, more like a solid year or more of those days of all days. Now, don't get me wrong-heaven forbid! This is not going to be one of my usual whining posts. No, no, no! This is going to be a thoroughly unique one of my whining posts!

     CUPCAKE BREAK number 1. Ahhh!!! Blue roses and The Glass Menagerie!!! See them?
                                                         See the little glass animals?
 Those of you who suffer through my wordy blog posts on a regular basis-and I don't know how you do it-know that for the past decade of my life when, in one FELL SWOOP, WAIT!!! aside here!!!!! do you ever seriously listen to our delightful expressions? fell swoop! that is a really good one don't you agree? anyway, in one fell swoop EVERYTHING changed, my kids all grew up and left home, the bungalows next to me which had been a perfect bohemian community were emptied of my neighbors and torn down and dumpstered away AND i quit teaching. Wow. When i write it all out i think to myself NO WONDER!!! and so those moments in time were enough to send me, quite rudderless truth be told, out into the world without my own private idaho. yeah. no port in the storm. no safe harbor. nothing but those long grey meaningless mornings when the fog outside my window and the fog inside my brain drifts in perfect disharmony. and don't get all advisory on me! i tried it all-happy faces, dating sites, sitting in bars by myself, calling friends, trying to make friends, trying to keep friends, long drives, longer talks, never ending walks. i tried working non-stop. i tried to find happiness in not working.  i made over 400 knitted washcloths and gave them away. i made 200 and counting stuffed catnip mice. i baked and gave away-sit down if you aren't already-almost 500 vegan cupcakes.

                 CUPCAKE BREAK number 2--Chambourd and heartbreakingly dark chocolate!!
                                                          Remember this one?
I don't tell you these things because i think that i am amazing or because i want you to think i am amazing. far from it. i have a difficult, almost impossible, time even appreciating the fact that i have done these things! and why you ask? oh i am so glad SO GLAD that you are still with me on this . . . . . . .  because, and here is the truth, because i do not believe that these things i have so neurotically and feverishly and done never quite successfully enough- are the right things!
 two examples: on my way to burningman i was cruising along listening to a traveling cd recorded for me by my beloved son and feeling so lucky and so blessed and so free and so about to save the world etc etc etc-and on some hellish two lane highway i saw the stockyard, slaughterhouse, killing field of my nightmares! i pulled off the road. switched off my happy tunes. got out. hung on the fence calamity jane style and just thought OH MY GOD.  and yeah i know i am biased and i know i am passionate and i know i am dramatic but i could smell and feel and see the fear, the blood, and the death. i climbed back in my car and drove out to the world changing desert festival where i knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that NOTHING i was going to do in the next few days would have ANY effect on something i truly believed, and believe at this moment, has to change.
 next: today i loaded up some Lucky Cakes and went to a small market that was NOTHING like i expected it would be from learning about it on its delightful website. the asphalt was hot. the sun hotter. the buyers were absolutely non-existent. i had gotten up at 5:30-good baker that i am-and baked fresh pear, french fruit cakes, and ginger carrot and went to sell my vegan cupcakes next to a booth where a man was selling-and i am NOT making this up-BBQ hooks made out of golf clubs! because, in his words, "i can get anything on one of these hooks for the BBQ!!" after i realized that i would not even make my selling fee, i simply talked with people as to what vegan means, listened to their life stories, and marveled at their knitted booties, potholders, and crocheted scarves.  my cupcakes were pretty damn trivial compared to the human experience that was all around me. people told me about their dreams and hopes and how they wish they had somewhere to sell what they can't stop making. they wished for connection and validation and a sense of worth. they told me about beating cancer, the deaths of husbands and relatives, and rescuing cats and dogs. one woman offered a corner of her canopy shade for me and by the time we were packing up, the sellers all came over  and bought cupcakes to take home. "veggen" one woman said, never thought i would eat a "veggen" cupcake.

                                CUPCAKE BREAK number 3--birthday for the most special
                                                  little person i know and love.
As i was driving home, i felt sad of course that i had spent my food money to bake cupcakes that were far from world changing, and hot and sun baked and tired from my early waking up hour like i told you, but mostly i felt that old familiar tiredness of DAMN!! why oh why oh why do we exist with this wretched combination of having the world's hurts and lacks and inequalities and gross injustices, cruelties, ugliness and unfairness of ALL SORTS known to us and AT THE SAME TIME we cannot seem to figure out HOW TO HELP?!! i have talked to enough people and sat with myself, BY MYSELF, for enough time now to know that the paradox of knowing the grief and wanting to help, but not having A CLUE as to how to help or what that help would look like (OH! except for SEND MONEY!!!) . . . that! that right there-perhaps not for everyone, but certainly to me and others i have listened to-that is the killer and tremendous thief of our vital energy. the younger people i know seem to be engaged and tech savvy and ruling the universe and connected and excited about what they do-is it age? is it where we all are in this place and time? my inbox has an interesting title that i know will answer all my questions: "Can we prevent the end of the world?" and i am not even really sure i know what that means, but i know there has GOT to be a way to live connected and helpful and needed and vital until we die!!!  my dearest friend of all time says that my tombstone will say "not for lack of trying" and i love her for that. i am going to change it to a shingle tied onto my funeral pyre, but until i get shipped to india or africa to feed starving babies, set off with a sleeper toyota and my wee doggies in the back to stitch rips and tears for the needy across our vast wasteland, blasted to some far distant planet to establish a new colony, elected to bake and cook in community kitchens far and wide, or named as head of a vast animal sanctuary i will not give up my quest.

                             END OF THE CUPCAKE ROAD number 4--fig and raspberry.
                                               it doesn't get much better than this.
So come on Lise, tell the patient and kind people that have sat through this incredibly long whine, did you find happiness at the bottom of that bourbon bottle? Well, no dear people, not exactly-but i will tell you this . . . it is hot still. my brain is tired. my heart is heavy with the life stories i heard today from people i never imagined i would ever even meet. my freezer is full of cupcakes. my dogs are snoring all around me. happy sounds are coming from the belly dancing restaurant on the corner. beyond a new season at the theatre i do not have clue one what my future holds. i still don't know how to end the madness. if i die tonight, i am not sure what i would be remembered for. or if it matters. but my crystal glass, with very cold lemonade and just the slightest bit of the best bourbon has allowed me to push the worry aside, send it to some far distant corner actually, and connect with the human factor that has asked the same questions, and wondered the same concerns, and felt the same heart tug of desire for as long as there have been BBQ hooks and veggen cupcakes. believe it or not? i love you for listening and THANK YOU. love always!

Mother of dogs. Storming the Bastille. Catching my breath.

My dearest daughter muse gave me the finest compliment I have ever received in my life the other day by comparing me to a near perfect woman (oh for gawd's sake!! of course from television!), but that's OK-I'll take her generous words and walk with them. Perhaps stride is a better word. I can feel the earth turning beneath me as even at this age defying birthday I am still me. Unashamedly now as I have been practicing anything but self-abuse for the past several months, finding joy in the smallest of moments and mistakes and midnight reading sessions that last until the stars have grown cold and even the birds are asleep. You know those nights. And most, most, MOST importantly of all-holding on to curiosity, looking up new words, finding the love of my entire adult life in the form of a writer I had somehow missed, reading everything I can get my hands on, listening to speakers I am lucky enough to find, and smiling and learning . . . just, damnit!, smiling and learning. If there is one thing this laboring at the salt mine has taught me, these OH MY GAWD the show is opening in two days drama filled breakdown moments time after time again, the actors who behead me in the midst of their own desire for perfection and fear of failure, the sheer incomprehensible immensity of all of it- the human drama, the animal agony, the bee deaths and children at our borders, disappearing water and all the scrambling for rent, for recognition, for respect, the great mash-up of past destruction and intolerance, present day challenges and stresses, and future imaginings and worries-all of it, all of it has taught me that being here, just to be here, and being me, just to be me-is the very best thing of all and trumps all of the regret and remorse, heartbreak and despair, depression and confusion. The dog above is the newest one in my pack. You remember him from my last post. He is an altogether perfect example of the power of love. From the arms of an angel who rescued him, to almost a year in the House of Dogs, he went from barely able to breathe past his fear of living to well . . . look at him! If there was ever a dog who has found his place, it's lil bro.

Storming the bastille has to be my most favorite thing to do. I love to work so hard I fall into bed exhausted-move over dogs!-and sleep solidly all the way through. I love to walk for miles and miles and miles and just witness. Today I am one with France and one with the Bastille and one with the Revolution. Today the clouds came and stayed with us awhile, the sidewalks remembered rain for a moment or two-those drops, that wet concrete smell.  Dusk is darkening now and I am looking forward to a complete and total storming of three weeks nonstop work-from Looped to Carmen to back again. And here is where those productions take me-to Tallulah Bankhead and Lifeboat and Hitchcock, and our leading lady and Pee Wee Herman and Carnivale, and Carmen and The Tempest and stage and costume designs from everywhere and music and images from everything-fabulous, fantastic, and the hardest work I have ever done-split second timing, nerves like firework explosions, discussions that never end, decisions made without reality in mind, personalities worn like badges, and feelings and emotions on display lit by neon-the theatre is heady stuff, and it is mine, baby mine-for the next little bit. Good thing I wear Joan around my neck. Off to storm the Bastille. Me and France! Me and France! Oh. And that darling one on the steps above? Someone who kept up with me as we covered the entire island of Manhattan-I swear-we never stopped moving! The BEST TIME EVER.

And catching my breath on this birthday of all birthdays . . .it has been quite a year. Still mourning my Queensland. Death of my father. Work and pain sometimes too intertwined. Still no vast fortune, future security, ship in the harbor, or direction or purpose clearly defined, but wait . . . wait just a moment. This photo above is titled "What We Have" and I know that is my greatest lesson from my past year on planet Earth. True, I had my share of unhappiness and disappointment, but SOMEHOW I got to the other side of the crossing. SOMEHOW I have begun to understand that I have ALL ANYONE COULD EVER, EVER WANT. And I have much, much more than many in this lifetime. I have my beloved children-lights of my life, I am the Mother of Dogs, and I have you-my friends who stood by as I whined and complained and begged for someone ANYONE to turn the goddamned hall light on-hear me out-bail the water from my sinking ship-and basically and most importantly, love me and like me for who I am.  I have learned the power of getting the fuck away from bad people, bad relationships, bad situations, and bad work. I have learned how to ask for what I need to survive. And the rewards have been life changing. Phone calls from so many, texts from so many, a long visit from my dear best of all friends, a delivered cake from the two most darling of friends, and let's just go with WOW. WOW. Thank you for supporting me and loving me and being my friends. I think you ARE the somehow!!! Ah good gawd I love my birthday. I love the 14th. VIVA LA VIDA.