Google Docs

Undoubtedly the doctors reading this know the double entendre I’m about to put forth. It’s those people who adjust their medication without professional consultation, but according to what they read online. Do you guys already call these patients Google Docs?

Anyone who can use a search engine can be an “expert” — yeah yeah, everyone’s a comedian, everyone’s a doctor - or can play one on tv.

The dogs have a little selective hearing and short attention spans. Thoughtfully they wonder is there a problem?

Good Google Dogs

Free ink gooble or boogle???

Thanks for joining me on this journey this month. I hope it brought you some smiles. I really appreciate the accountability and am proud of some of the corniest jokes I threw at you this month!

Thanks for being people who care about people and supporting CASP!

Sprouts

Our home came with an abundance of tidy hostas rimming the driveway and much of the house. I was very meh about their leafy greens and anemic flowering. Yes, there are stunning hosta varieties out there with amazing smelling flowers, but these are, for the most part, not what I have.

Then, a couple of years ago, I learned that one can sauté the hosta sprouts and early greens. GAME CHANGER. They are really tasty and so I’ve come to anticipate their spring return to harvest their deliciousness. As I am a busier person and lazier gardener these days, the hostas’ ability to fill in space and pretend I know what I’m doing has become a clutch piece of the landscaping. I changed my attitude towards them — I’ve learned to appreciate them.

The ostrich ferns which drifted in from the neighbors’, do much the same work. Early harvest of fiddleheads fill the fridge and our bellies. Later in the season, a wall of ferns on the other edge of the driveway keep things from rolling all the way down the steep bank. I used to have other plants on that edge, now it is pretty much a fern and tick forest. Another good reason to not garden there.

Solomon Seal, is also said to be edible but I haven’t dared try them yet. The season is so short that by the time I work up the gumption, the moment of opportunity has passed.

My groundhog eats none of these things — so I don’t over indulge in any of it. I see my groundhog as my personal food taster/tester, but s/he hasn’t shown up to work yet. Something about shadows and sleeping in.

Groundhog attitude

Today’s dreamy free ink

Yankee Doodle Dandy

Welcome back to the April Arts Marathon to support our local Asylum Seekers!

During this marathon, as alluded to, I’ve been puzzling out my upcoming summer show at the Brattleboro Museum and Art Center: Yankee Doodle Dandy. Without giving too much away — it’s my response to the rhetoric used in the last year where words like ‘patriot,’ ‘American,’ ‘citizen’ have bloomed connotations that don’t always mesh with my reality. I want to take up and make space for my fellow Americans (and people who live here on this planet) to be their own Yankee Doodle Dandy selves in this exhibit for the USA’s Semiquincentennial. (I’m proud that this word now just flies out of my mouth when I want to say it… it’s taken a minute).

I’ve been thinking about this since last summer. I love all the Doodles and Dandies, and Yankees and Noodles, not to mention the Yodels, Yokels, and Poodles. Oodles I say, I love ‘em oodles. There’s so much fun in our American Identity, such abundance for laughs, joy, surprises, and tricksters, too. I choose to be spacious about this topic. I’d love to include them all in the show… this one won’t fit in. It needs to be part of this world and not just part of my ideas that didn’t make it!

Also — do you have a tri-cornered hat or a foam finger that you would like to give, lend, or sell to me?

Get it? She’s a doodle - like part poodle!

This was my free inking from yesterday — when I was wondering about Gravity and what it wants. and then I jostled the paper and everything went sideways.

Gravity

Welcome to the last week of CASP’s April Arts Marathon!

This morning I noticed a huge storage shelf unit collapsed in our basement. Wow. Stunning. It must have happened when we were walking dogs because surely that made a lot of noise and probably rumbled the house. As it is, there are no witnesses. No one barked. It’s just a gravity party in many, many parts.

Out of all of the fun things in my house, I’m trying not to judge here, gravity could have pulled down funner stuff than winter accessories and canning supplies. What does gravity want anyways? Is gravity tired of holding it together? Does it sometimes want to be a little less reliable? Am I taking it for granted? What is the end goal here: Black Hole? Just asking… Gravity — I see you. (And it didn’t hurt that you made a mess in order for me to notice).

In any case, I am frequently grateful for gravity. With all of the things I drop it’s nice to have to look for it in only one direction. I’d truly hate to be in outer space with my things floating around. The reliability of “it’s right where you left it” is something I give thanks for every day, even if I can’t remember where I left it.

And yet, even with all of this appreciation, Gravity has also tried to kill me on many occasions. I’m glad it pulled down a storage shelf instead of me today. I guess our relationship is improving, but I still ask myself what I did to make gravity so angry and needy? And what the heck can I do about it?

In any case, the times gravity has not tried to kill me still outweigh the times it has, by a lot. We’re still playing on the possible, positive side of the ledger!

Baby Panda

I admit I am horribly jealous of my cousin who went to China and held a baby panda. It is beyond me to explain how much I love almost all animals. My heart is in a near constant ache for animals because I love them so much. I’m so envious of my cousin’s opportunity, that every time my little dog finds stairs just too much to handle, I ask if she will pretend she is a baby panda so I can hold her. (I try not to pick her up too much because I don’t feel right about taking so much advantage of her diminutive size). I like to think it works out for both of us, she gets a free ride on the stairs and I get to pretend I live with a baby panda. Every once in a while though she reminds me that this is some sick speciesist game I play, but she allows me to maintain the ruse to avoid the stairs and because I feed her. She considers the pros and cons every day before she lets me pick her up.

Years ago, there was a test floating around the internet: What dog breed are you? My mother in law was angered when I was deemed a Border Collie. She wanted to be a Border Collie, but was a Lab. I, too, was slightly miffed to receive crazy Border Collie — too athletic, not so very funny! For research purposes, ahem, I took two different tests today— my results? Mutt (yes!) and on the second test? Yep, still Border Collie (sad trombone).

So my poor little dog who just wants to be a boss dog — born with short legs and is now slightly blind and hard of hearing —First there’s me pretending she’s a baby panda, and then there’s the Border Collie understanding her to be a little lamb. Sorry, little dog, we didn’t make the world and none of us can control how others view us. Sad Trombone, indeed.

But don’t think for a minute I’d actually trade my little dog for anyone else. She’s perfect and she’s playful enough to put up with our shenanigans!

You are dog enough!

free inking exercise today after picking fiddleheads

Doo Wah DiddyDiddy

Because my little dog is always walking around to the rhythm of Doo Wah Diddy, I’ve been digging deep into the song. I learned it was originally recorded by the Exciters (of “Tell Him” fame) and then shortly after by Manfred Mann (no one has ever gone harder with the maracas). My research doesn’t reveal anything much deeper than this about the song.

The Exciters, a Queens, NY band, were the first black act to play the Gator Bowl in Jacksonville, Florida in 1964. They opened for the Beatles who refused to go on if The Exciters were not allowed to play (FAB4!). Also interesting to me, the Exciters once called themselves the Masterettes This word, Masterette, breaks my brain! Miriam Webster defines -ette: 1. little one. 2. female — which is the very opposite of the word Master. In a puff of oxymoronic opposition this word destroys itself, emphasizes the female, and does something, I’m not sure what, in the Civil Rights era.

It’s my little dog’s 13th birthday — so I guess she will be the one to play at being the masterette today.

And the etymology of the word harass? Middle French, harer: To set a dog on (it)

Herd Immunity

My dog is a poodle-dachsund mix and sometimes looks like a little sheep. She’s a mutt. Probably engineered — my friend in Austria said, “Oh you have a dacharoodle!” What a word! My dog came to us second hand during the pandemic and I adopted her for her good looks, bad attitude, and because she has the same name as me. Hilarious.

I learned today that mutt is short for muttonhead. So, that’s a funny thing to call my little lamblike dog.

The foster border collie is a working dog without a job. About twice a day the very smart border collie decides to herd my little sheep-looking dog. The little dog looks plaintively at me. She’s upset by the affront to her dignity, autonomy, and tired of the gosh darn doggedness of her cousin.

Who put the Ledge in Ledger

Okay… I just accidentally deleted my almost completed post for today in trying to fact check the last bit. Maybe this is a sign I’m writing too much. I’m deliriously tired from the foster dog.

One friend asked today if I would like to hear a talk with her this weekend, and, even though it sounded fun and amazing, I replied, “No, it’s on the '‘one too many” side of the ledger.” Eureka! I heard Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five rapping The Message: “Don’t push me cause I’m close to the edge. I’m trying not to lose my head” and in my two-day-old exhaustion from the foster dog’s spectacular Sunday night output, I saw the LEDGE in the ledger. I saw the edge of the ledge in the word and concept of ‘ledger’. I suddenly understood the accounting ledger as marking what’s possible on one side, and on the other side, the chasm from which one may or may not return. The accountant is in (sitting in a Lucy Van Pelt’s Psychiatrist’s Booth and charging a nickel).

As mentioned, I’ve watched a lot of cartoons, so I know that falling off a ledge doesn’t mean anything until one realizes it, and even then, it is not commonly fatal. Here’s to the slings and anvils of outrageous fortune, Wile E. Coyote style.

By the way, the etymology of ledger has nothing to do with a ledge. It has to do with something, like a big book, that lays in one place. It has nothing to with geology…just a book laying around— staying open and staying present. (I couldn’t resist making the double entendre in my sleep deprived state).

Contemplation of Ledges and Gravity. Free Inking exercise

Sketch to find a pun…too tired.

In the end, I feel like this is the closest I can get to funny today!

Edgy Ledgers on the Ledge or Ledgy Ledgers on the Edge?

Phantosmia

Phantom smells. Every so often I am awoken by a smell that doesn’t exist. Usually I can tell myself it’s nothing. No-one is likely to be making toast at 3am. Almost always incorporated into my dreams the smell wakes me up. Sometimes, though, I may have hyperosmia —like when a neighbor is having a cigarette and our windows show how leaky they are. I wake up and the smell is real, just real subtle. I astound my family by declaring a rotting citrus fruit from long distances on a regular basis. I can’t imagine how anyone can’t smell that.

Artists can be sensitive and hyperaware. It’s the paying attention that’s the job. That was the point of the banana duct taped to the wall, right? Because an artist is an artist no matter what she does, what she does is art. It doesn’t matter what senses we use. We notice. We take note. We process. We make. Occasionally, we just tape.

In any case, smell is so evocative and triggers all kinds of associations. It seems like a key to the subconscious or memory or deep feeling. Did you smell the banana on the wall? Last night, I awoke thinking I smelled gas, not propane, dog gas.

Trying to sleep through, my slumber mind could not conjecture a good reason that wasn’t awful. I had to find out for myself…and it was.

It was a careful, sleepy labor in hopes that the smell would abate enough to allow a little more sleeping for the night. I would not consider dog cleanup to be my art, but I am an artist, so am I wrong? One thing I won’t question—I am glad my dogs’s day jobs are more akin to clowns than painters, because there is such a thing as bad painting. It may be art but….it stinks!

something’s fishy around here…

Smells in the night — free inking exercise today

Hopping

Yesterday morning I saw a blue jay hopping mad at a squirrel on the bird feeder. It was hilarious in its ineffectiveness and expression of pure frustration. It felt like there could have been other, more meaningful, ways to respond, but I’ve watched a lot of cartoons, so my grasp on reality is highly amended. In our era of opinions being validated by views and likes… I realized I was doing the thing in realtime. I was liking and viewing this behavior and taking it to the next level… (I’ll stop this train of thought right here).

I love that Bluejays are related to crows. It makes them seem smarter and not just slightly complainy and pretty faces. A group of Bluejays is not called a murder, like crows, but a “Party” or “Band.” Does that make them the club or frat house birds? Some possible band names: Blurjays, Bubblejays, b-corvids, Winged Party, Party on the Wing… All dressed up and unable to be seated at the bird feeder.

Party of 6 Party of corvid Jays

Artificial Intelligence

It’s like the jokes write themselves!

I wrote an email to customer service the other day using the salutation: Dear Company Name Humans. I wrote my email and signed my name.

Instantly I received an email back. Wow! So nice, so responsive! Uh… ’this email was produced by a bot’. Yeah, I got got. I forgot about modern times. Later, the people did email back and signed their email with ‘The Humans at Company Name.’ I had, in the end, caught their attention but with a benign, yet serious, lesson learned.

I’m sure you can tell from my writing that I don’t know how to use the AI help. I stupidly think if I don’t use the help, I won’t be wearing out our Earth with all the power that AI requires. I know this is inherently false, but I remain a luddite —not only am I outdating myself, but also I feel increasingly guilty of “doing it to myself.” (Win!-Win! hahaha!)

So much of my hesitation, is (see yesterday’s post), from my need to come up with a creative solution to every problem. I need to tinker until I succeed or have to give up.

A friend uses AI to translate her expletive laden frustration into kind emails to say, "No, can’t do that.” Brilliant use of this tool by a human! It is the first time I understand when I might be willing to give up my expression to the bot. It makes me so thankful, not so much to know this tool exists to translate frustration into flowers, but really thankful for Friends who know how to save their creativity for what matters.

Transformation

Today’s free inking

Breakthrough...

I’ve been trying to solve a particular exhibition problem. Somehow, every time I have an idea, I seem to need to reinvent the wheel. In case, you haven’t noticed, I have a hard time following a tried and true form. I have an overabundance of confidence that I can do better. I can’t help it. I continue to cause trouble for myself with untallied, unexamined, and expansive examples of failures and some successes!

On this particular exhibition issue, I think I finally figured it out. It’s now a matter of doing the work and making it come to real life. I just checked in with an artist friend for feedback. She said something like, “It works. It’s smahtah,” so I said, “Right? It’s not so What’s a mattah!” So here’s to problems and their solutions!

I remain aspirational that I can learn to ‘Work smahtah and not so What’s a mattah?’!

I’m prompted to add a description, but I think this speaks for itself.

my starter ink today

Marathon Lessons

I understand physicial fitness and stamina are important to some, but this isn’t me. Proudly I have flunked PE at every educational level that I’ve been required to participate in. The Presidential Fitness test? Remember that? It was so bad! Collapsed on the gym mats my best friend and I watched the other kids run around and fly up the rope. In High School, I managed to argue “Walking” to be accepted as my sport. Mostly, I moped around looking for bugs, flowers, and mushrooms. In college, having failed the entrance fitness test, I had the astounding luck in my last months of school to have my weight room instructor hurt himself after I had exhausted all my allowed absences. Not only was I awarded the acknowledgment that ‘See, sports can really hurt you!’ but also rescue arrived in the form of an honor system sign up sheet. I signed in. I left the gym. I read books…HEAVY books. I tried to follow the spirit of the class time.

I’m not sure who the patron saint of the gym flunkers is. I just want to say thanks. I was really helped out of a tight spot. Maybe, it’s the Chinese buddha. Not someone I particularly revered, but he’s so happy! Who could argue with that?

Patron Saint of Phys Ed Flunkers

Nowadays I do stretches and P.T. so I can walk! And I do Vision Therapy too. Turns out depth perception is key for things like kickball and dodge ball. So the last laugh is on me. And I’ve even signed up for this marathon…doesn’t it sound so athletic?

Chain Train of Thought. This was my inking stretching exercise today — It started out as a chain, then I started to pun around with Chains of thought vs. trains of thought. And how intertwined my experiences are.

And because we’re just about halfway through the marathon and I need to do some housekeeping to keep up with the program - well, I’m a little stressed and behind…so maybe my patron saint will help me out again!

Have a cuppa!

Welcome to Day ?? of the April Arts Marathon! I’m losing count! - or how to count…

I haven’t dared look again at my notebook page of gags, since a week ago I didn’t understand it, myself. I am starting to understand why people sometimes wonder what I’m talking about!

So as I made the time to work today I brewed a cup of tea…and hoped that it could be creativity -tea— which then had me punning on all the kinds of teas I could brew — royal-tea, frail-tea, fragile-tea — I’m sure it’s been done before but here’s my versions of creativity and other teas…

Funny, you don’t look like a cup of tea.

Why the Long Face?

Lately, I’ve been drawing a lot of Yankee Doodle Dandy on his Pony for a show I’m working on for the Semiquincentennial. I’m having to learn how to draw horses, and I thought I was onto something, but yesterday’s drawing of St. George’s steed says otherwise! Part of my issue is my stubbornness in channelling the energy of something rather than looking and copying reference pictures.

When I was young, I had a friend who loved horses. She drew them all the time, and drew them well. I wasn’t a horse girl, so while I admired her drawings, I never really studied them. In fact, I’ve never really studied horses, save the 30 minutes before post time at the races. And then, I study their energy, not their physicality.

Maybe I’m testing myself to see if I am actually observing and paying attention. Maybe I’m idealistic that I know how to draw. As they say, back to the drawing board! Maybe on the drive home I’ll find some horses to look at.

Enjoy these horses. It is, after all, the Chinese year of the Horse!

(I misinked apples… so much for idealism!)

Oh my stars! Part 2

Woke up this morning in St. George, Maine.

Clearly, jokes are at work, because I didn’t know I was coming to St. George (see my post, two days ago). I thought I was driving to Spruce Head (turns out, it’s a village of St. George). And I thought I was picking someone up, I didn’t know I was unloading a uHaul and helping dear friends move furniture today.

I arrived last night in time to see my friend, a Rabbi, host a Yizkor service/gathering for the last night of Passover. It was a beautiful moment dedicated to grieving and celebrating the important people in our lives as the sun went down, the candles were lit, and the sky turned rose all around.

And with that expanded sense of inner space, I was driven to — where? St. George! And did I say “Oh my stars?” Yes I did. The stars pierced the blue-black night with such clarity, I imagined the Artemis II astronauts returning to Earth, as I looked out last night, might have a similar view.

Because I landed in St. George, I HAD to do some quick research. From Wikipedia I learned his remains rest in the Church of St. George in Lydda, today known as Lod, in… Israel! Oh my stars and garters!

And the Persian version of the holy man, George resurrects the dead, makes trees sprout, and pillars flower. Oh my stars and garters!

There’s plenty more, but disappointingly not much about dragons. This gem though: in Greece, he is venerated for keeping vampires at bay. By George!

I apologize for the corniness that follows. I’m sorry (not) these cartoons are kind of like shaggy dog stories. Sorry I screwed up the horse. I should do this one again, but I leave this with you, despite georg and his horse’s lumpiness.

Fangs but no Fangs

Spring is inevitable

It’s day 6 of the April Arts Marathon!

Mother Nature is Comedienne Number One. All those dead sticks and trees, that nasty patch of dirt… Surprise! She was just joking — NOT dead! Wildly alive! It’s happening!!!!

First hibernator to wake and bumble about the garden? Skunk! Dressed up in formal wear and over splashed with cologne, that rake!

No matter, come as you are. Everyone eats at our bird feeder. Um, except cats. There is no all you can eat bird buffet for cats. The birds are safely singing at all hours - drunk on love and their seasonal imperative.

A few years ago I had so many cats in my yard (after the bird feeder came down). Of course I thought they just loved me (one even came into my house). In general though, they scattered when I came out to say hi. I didn’t know why they liked my garden until I googled it. Apparently it was a sign I had voles or moles. Guffaw.

Oh, and also that my neighbor was feeding them!

(The art part is that this is an idealized version of my garden)

This is what I inked to loosen up today — I think the tension of yesterday’s ultimatum carried over. What a sense of tenuous relief!

Sticks (not stones, not words)

Oh My Stars!

It’s day 5 of the April Arts Marathon!

Last year I made a friend who actually says, “Oh my stars!” and then says, “The full phrase is ‘Oh my stars and garters!’” I’m so tickled every time she says it. It’s so old fashioned, and corny, and sweet, and, I thought, mid-American riské. I bust out laughing because it catches me by surprise. Even when she says it in exasperation — I find it delightful! It completely shocks me into a smile from the frustrated place where I may have been heading.

Maybe it’s because this is what I’m thinking it means:

This lady is on a fainting couch doing the thing…

If you’ve seen me in the wild -you have likely seen me somewhat like this, tangled in my scarf and my backpack and coat somehow, with my socks falling down and my hat falling off of my head. It’s kind of how I roll, despite my best efforts. It’s probably why I think this phrase is so hilarious.

Yes, I’m stepping on my own shoelace.

It turns out the phrase has less to do with corn pone Americana than with the British military honors of stars and the Order of the Garter - whose motto is Honi soit qui mal y pense, meaning Shame on him who thinks of evil. It comes from coat of arms of St. George, the guy of dragon killing fame.

Stars and Crest of the Order of the Garter

Maybe I’m thinking of this phrase today because I feel a little exasperated, and nervous by the unfathomable war our country is in. Maybe it’s just a roundabout way of saying “Shame on him who thinks of evil.”

Am I trying to bring this phrase all the way back into style? Oh my Stars and Garters!

dogs

It’s day 4 of the April Arts Marathon! Well the April Fools keep on coming!

Woke up barely at dawn on Sunday to the crazy mad barking of the Border Collie we are fostering. We think she scared away the Easter Bunny or Jesus or both. Naturally, she’s clammed up and not telling us exactly why she was barking. We were just left with a distinct lack of holiday about the very tired house. Maybe she was just complaining about the lack of amenities here.

If you need a beautiful Border Collie, let me know!

This morning we awoke to the other dog having had a big night, doing things she should do outdoors, indoors. Was this a case of her trying to make up for the Easter Bunny’s nonappearance? Surprise! In any event, in the constant game of trick or treat, this event leads me to ask, every time I see either of them… Is this dog half empty or half full? I’m pretty sure this morning, one dog was empty and my house was full!

The knuckleheads, boy are they problematic, but boy are they endearing. Their brains are small but they have mad skills in knowing how to make you love them.

Neither one of them is my best friend right now…but I’ll give them both a cookie anyways.

The Chuckleheads make a case for cookies

Good Friday

It’s day 3 of the April Arts Marathon!

Easter is nigh. This year, however, seems to be the year I am taking a break from celebrating any holidays. I gave Christmas almost a complete miss and made no new year’s resolutions. I think I ate something vaguely festive for Chinese new year. I grabbed a shamrock shake late in the day, didn’t give anything up for Lent. I did, however, eat a few hot crossed donuts from Donut Dip, have I mentioned my love of doughnuts? One of my favorite holidays is Nowruz on the spring solstice. I usually celebrate Nowruz by cooking a lovely herby pancake called Kuku Sabzi (what is in a name? It’s kuku!) and buying a few new goldfish for the tank. This year, I punted and promise to cook some another day, TBD. I no longer need to make Easter baskets or hide eggs at my particular stage of life. (My favorite Easter fell on April Fools…. All the plastic eggs contained black jelly beans). The only Easter I need to “make” nowadays is for my mother in law, who still enjoys celebrating. We will dip some eggs and go out to eat.

For a minute yesterday, I considered waiting in line at one of our local candy kitchens like I did when I had a small child. I hankered for the feeling of walking out of the little house with three more kinds of candy than I came in for and of the giddy guilt of having spent too much money on sugar. The guilt is key, because I know whatever candy I buy, it has the potential to grace our counter until Halloween, or in some cases, years. Lingering evidence that sometimes, frequently, I make poor choices! Oh, the horror!

I guess, I’ve had a lot of work this year and less bandwidth. Celebrating holidays is important, and I feel the pressure of neglecting even to tear open a box to make matzoh ball soup this week for Passover, and to not having hunted or gathered a single Easter goody for Sunday. I’m noticing that the pressure remains on, even as I have taken a step away from the celebration table.

That said, I’m off to a surprise party. I’m not really sure why anyone still is doing this, as I can’t keep up with planned holidays, but there it is. I’m a bit rushed and here’s today’s offering! Happy Easter for those of you who celebrate in any capacity!