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Blackbird’s show and tell theme this week is chosen by Pea Soup – Favorite Piece of Art From Your Home.

How to choose ! I have so many artsy things in my home. Most are things that family members or I have done, some are copies of famous things, some are prints, but two are the real deal. Original oils by a fabulous artist named De Leva. Well, I think he’s fabulous. He’s still alive, so the paintings aren’t worth what, say, a Van Gogh or a Dali are worth, but one day, they just might be! So. Here we go.
This painting is enttitled, Dripping Will. It is oil on wood. Now, abstract is generally not my thing, but I absolutely love the way this artist handles color and depth. There are so many things going on in his paintings. This one reminds me of Winged Victory.
Here is a closeup of the ‘wing’.
And a closeup of the middle part. Now, this particular piece doesn’t showcase color quite so much as others in his portfolio, but there is something about the exquisite details. It’s a small painting, with quite alot of texture and detail.
Another closeup. See the spooky eyes peering out There are other organic things like bones and teeth lurking beneath the surface in various parts of the piece. All in all, very interesting.
This painting lives in a nook above the fireplace in my family room, along with a trio of bronze ballerinas, a bronze girl with lute, and a cast Rodin. (Excuse the poor lighting. The nook has a spotlight but my photography skills are sorely lacking and I’m too lazy to set up a tripod to get a good photo with no blur or flash glare.)

Someday…. …I’m going to build my dream house (after I design it and when I can afford it)… ….And this will be the magical view that I will savor… …Mountains drifting into the horizon… …a ribbon of blue water…
…a big sky, full of clouds…
…and Trees! Glorious Trees!

…Someday.

Body Parts – The Ear
I remember poring through the pages of the Great Western catalog’s jewelry section, dreaming of the perfect pair of earrings that I would buy, if only I could have my ears pierced. I was probably around 12 years old. There were hundreds of styles. So many choices. But there weren’t any clip-ons that I recall at all, and if there were, they were dowdy globs of colored pearls that somebody old and rickety like Great Aunt Edith would wear, but certainly not a fashionable young girl like me. Earrings were limited to those who had the good fortune to be counted among the pierced. How I yearned to have pierced ears. It was strictly forbidden. I’d plead with my mom. Why Why Why can I not have my ears pierced Everybody has pierced ears. Aside from the fact that I’d have to face my tyrannical father, my mother would give me her story about how disrespectful it would be to put holes in the perfectly good pair of ears that God me. I don’t know how many times I pleaded and begged.

In a moment of wild pre-teen rebellion, my sister and I took to the clandestine act of piercing our own ears. We smuggled ice and sewing needles up to our rooms and did the deed. I had planned ahead and purchased some dot earrings in a multi-pack from the local drugstore. They used to sell these cards of earrings with 10-12 pairs of colored dots for $2 or so. What a bargain, twelve pairs of earrings! I selected a card that had some tan colored dots, thinking that if they were skin colored, my parents wouldn’t notice. Furthermore, I carefully pinned my hair in front of my ears so that they’d be concealed. I got away with it for about a day, but somehow my dad noticed. How, I’ll never know, since he had so very little interest in me in the first place. He must have sensed my worry. I’m sure I was radiating guilt waves. He was furious. He sputtered like a volcano and shouted at me with fire in his eyes, but that was the sum of it, and it wasn’t that bad, all in all. I survived. No physical violence took place. My mother gave me the I’m disappointed in you comment, but that was about it. Not long after that, I figured the damage was already done, so I double pierced my ears. Nobody noticed.

As luck would have it, I turned out to be allergic to the metals used in most of the cute costume jewelry, and ended up with infections if I wore earrings longer than a day or so. I also found that I couldn’t wear posts, as the part of the earring in contact with my lobe would irritate and infect. They were uncomfortable anyway, because they would poke my neck. My dreams of accessorizing and making fashion statements with my impressive wardrobe of earrings fizzled away.

Some time later, when I was a bit more mature, in a moment of self contemplation, I realized that I have perfect earlobes. Or, rather, had perfect earlobes. Women can be so self-critical and find almost nothing to be pleased about when considering their physical selves. I will join the bandwagon and blame it on the media, with all those seemingly perfect examples of female-ness plastered on the covers of magazines. Forms that we aspire to be, but can never be.

I can find fault with almost any part of my physique, but my earlobes are nice. They would be even nicer if they hadn’t been defaced. If I cared to share the sentiment with my mother, she would revel in a victorious I told you so.

These days, I wear a simple set of earrings to fill the holes. They stay in for months, even years.

I was just coming back to my office from the kitchen when I spotted something gross and ugly from the corner of my eye. Upon closer inspection, I saw this pasty brownish slimy stuff smeared on the lid of my chest freezer. I’m not going to get into why I have a chest freezer in my living room. It’s a small freezer. It’s mostly inconspicuous. And it’s black. It actually takes me more than a few seconds of pondering, in grossed out wonder, what on earth happened to the lid of my freezer. And then it came to me. Peanut butter. It’s peanut butter, and I put it there. Moreover, I planned to remove it before the cool cat got home last night, because I was sure he would give me a hard time for doing such a ridiculous thing as that. Phew, I’m glad he didn’t notice it! However, I’m somewhat disturbed that it took me so long to find the memory lodged in my brain that I had done this thing. Honestly, I had no recollection at all.

Originally, there was a warning label on the freezer lid. I peeled it off, but most of it stayed in place. Oh crap, now he’s going to ask me why I had to mess with it in the first place. So I tried some Greased Lightning from a sample I got at a home show a few years ago. I used a cotton ball to apply it. All it did was add cotton fibers to the gum. I peeled off as much of the cotton fiber as I could. Next came the windex, because it has ammonia in it, and I thought ammonia was supposed to do a good job with sticky things like that. Nope. Same result as before. What about hot hot water. Melt that sucker. Nope, wouldn’t budge. Acetone At the risk of dulling the surface of my freezer, I went ahead with reckless abandon. No luck. Dish detergent Nope. But Dawn gets the grease out. It’s supposed to work wonders on things like this.

Last resort. The old wive’s tale (from my mother’s best friend). Peanut butter. I got out the JIF (choosy mothers choose it, you know). (Okay, it’s cheap because it comes from Costco.) Then I forgot about it. Until just a few minutes ago. And wouldn’t you know, that label gooey gummy crap came right off. Right off! I’m a believer now.

I’m ready for a show and tell, as evidenced by the multitude of photos. The subject My bathroom. Specifically, the hall bath, which has no bath. I guess it is therefore a powder room, but lazy Americans like me just call them all bathrooms.

Shall we begin

It’s a teeny tiny room, with oh, so much going on.

The room is dominated by my blue lady mosaic. I did the mosaic years ago. It’s a self portrait, with much artistic license taken.

I painted the entire room, ceiling included. I love the name of the color: Splendid Cornelius. It’s a sort of cornflower blue. Yes, I know, a light bulb needs replacing.

Incense and pottery. A must.

I replaced the original towel rack with a set of drapery holdback thingies and made custom hand towels by cutting a bath towel in two and binding with a lightly contrasting bias tape. Although the colors don’t show it in the photo, I was fortunate enough to find a towel in almost the exact shade as the wall. I like the swirly fixture theme, so the tissue holder got an upgrade as well.

The trash can is so very high class. It’s thick cobalt blue glass. Yes, glass. Although it doesn’t look like cobalt matches well with Splendid Cornelius, it actually does. My photography skills are lacking. And about glass trash cans– who has glass trash cans Me! Okay, there was this sale. At Costco. $7. What use could I possibly have for an enormous (ENORMOUS) glass vase None. But it’s only $7. Seven Dollars! Think, think, think. No! Wait! It’s just the right size for a bathroom trash can (photo doesn’t properly capture the scale). I bought 3. Thinking outside the can.

I strung some low voltage art lights to showcase a whimsical collage.

Sixteen works of art in miniature jeweled frames arranged in a square, but a bit askew. Is it laziness or artistic license The latter sounds better. I’m goin’ with it.

The subject matter Nebulae. Photos from the Hubble. I love these photos! To think there can be so much beauty in gas. And how oddly but artistically appropos for a bathroom. Ha!

I keep seeing these ‘100 things’ lists, so I thought I’d give it a whirl. Here goes… …in no particular order…

1. I am a half breed.
2. I have six brothers.
3. I have two sisters.
4. I am the oldest girl.
5. I am second of nine.
6. Just before I started Jr. High, I moved to a rural town and our well ran dry. The only water we had was dark dark dark silty putrid orange. Our pipes froze every winter, too, so we didn’t even have access to the orange water for months. We hauled drinking water from town in 5 gallon jugs and sometimes melted snow to wash dishes and take sponge baths. It was so embarrassing for a teenage girl. After I left home and went to college, my parents were able to afford to have a new well drilled. Crystal clear delicious water.
7. I have a degree in Electrical Engineering.
8. I graduated ‘Cum Laude’.
9. I’m quite certain I would have done much much better had I not convinced myself that it was much harder than it was.
10. I only chose engineering because that major had the best hiring stats at the time.
11. I minored in Computer Science because I liked computers/computing/programming.
12. I used to think that CS was for people who weren’t smart enough for engineering. You know… idiots. So I didn’t take it very seriously, and I didn’t go work for Microsoft in the 80s because it was beneath me. See who’s the idiot (me) and see who’s basking in their cashed in stock options (not me).
13. I am sometimes a snob (see 12).
14. I love broccoli.
15. I can’t stand the taste, texture, or smell of most squash.
16. I’m deathly afraid of and disgusted by stink bugs.
17. I love gadgets. Especially kitchen gadgets.
18. I love tools, so I don’t give my husband too much trouble when he buys tools, because secretly I plan to take advantage of his stash some day.
19. I met my husband on the internet (match.com) in December of 2001.
20. I’m embarrassed to tell people how we met.
21. We’ve lived together since the day we met in person, three days later.
22. I’m embarrassed to tell people we’ve lived together since the day we met in person.
23. We got engaged ten days later.
24. He proposed via email.
25. I’m embarrassed to tell people how he proposed.
26. We got married 01 April 2003. I chose April Fool’s day so I’d always remember our anniversary.
27. I love my husband.
28. I love him even more, now that we have a baby.
29. I take most things way too seriously.
30. When I was in second grade, some of the boys called me fat.
31. I wasn’t very fat at all. I had a little bit of a blubber belly, is all.
32. More than 30 years later, one of those boys works down the hall from me, in a giant company that is located over 350 miles from where we went to grade school. I don’t consider him my arch-enemy any more.
33. I am ‘morbidly obese’ by the text book standards.
34. I don’t think I am morbidly obese.
35. I used to be ‘drop dead gorgeous’ (according to a few people, myself not included).
36. When I was a teenager and obsessed with the size of my waist, I told my sister that her waist would never be smaller than mine. (Teenagers can be so cruel.)
37. I now weigh twice as much as my sister.
38. I didn’t get a car until after I graduated from college.
39. I’ve always wanted to have children. Two boys and a girl.
40. I’m 40.
41. I don’t ovulate (much).
42. I got pregnant the first month that I started fertility treatment.
43. I miscarried my twins on my 38th birthday.
44. I took a break from fertility treatments (gave up) and started taking classes for foster parenting certification with the option for adoption.
45. I had to plow through alot of HMO bureaucracy before I started fertility treatments again. When I finally got the authorization to proceed, I took a precautionary pregnancy test. It was positive.
46. I believe in miracles.
47. I’ve had a life prayer that I’ve prayed for most of my life, to become a mother before I’m 40. (I know not to bargain with God, and impose time limits, but I did it just the same.)
48. I gave birth to a beautiful healthy boy 2 months and 2 weeks before I turned 40.
49. I believe what the bible says about the holy spirit.
50. I believe the bible is God’s word.
51. I don’t go to church.
52. I love to sing.
53. I don’t sing very well, but sometimes it seems like I do.
54. I think Bono is my soul-brother.
55. I love alot of music by the Who, the Moody Blues, and Pink Floyd.
56. I loathe the marijuana culture.
57. I was involved in long-term (non-consecutive) relationships with not one, but two, marijuana addicts.
58. Almost every boyfriend I’ve ever had was a drummer.
59. I freaked out when my husband expressed interest in playing the drums.
60. I used to be in love with Barry Manilow.
61. And Johnny from Emergency 1.
62. And Luke Skywalker. In fact, I used to daydream that I had a horrible life threatening disease like leukemia, and he (Mark Hamill) would be moved by that, come to my bedside, and fall deeply in love with me. Such drama. Acccckkkk, how embarrassing to admit that, and even to have ever thought such a thing! AAcccccckkkkk!!!!
63. Shortly thereafter, I switched my infatuation to Harrison Ford, who remained hot until the Calista Flockhart mid-life crisis incident.
64. I think Ed Harris is hot. My husband never lets that one rest; he is very amused by it.
65. I don’t like blondes. (Not that I don’t like them, but given the preference, and if I were that superficial, I’d choose a dark-haired man over a blonde.)
66. I married a blonde man.
67. I have a blonde baby. So I LOVE blondes!! He is so beautiful.
68. I like to design and make things. All kinds of things. Like fountains, furniture, toys, costumes, gadgets, gizmos, web sites.
69. I don’t actually complete many of said designs/projects.
70. I like to paint.
71. I like to write.
72. I like to go outside in a torrential downpour and turn my face toward the sky.
73. I’m a leather snob. It doesn’t have to be name brand, but it has to have just the right weight, texture, sheen, etc. for its given application.
74. I love hot hot hot spicy food.
75. I want to write a book some day. And have it be a bestseller.
76. I’m designing my next home, which I plan to participate heavily in the construction thereof.
77. I want to start my own business and have it be wildly successful.
78. I love TV shows and films. They calm me down because I get too stressed out over too many things.
79. I get too stressed out over too many things.
80. I cry during tv shows and movies when sad things happen.
81. Especially the news. I don’t like to watch the news. I don’t like to see people’s babies washed away by tsunamis and hurricanes and such.
82. I intentionally ate half a piece of spice cake laced with hashish in Amsterdam, for the ‘full Amsterdam experience’ and also in retaliation to my then-boyfriend’s accusations of my hypocrisy for passing judgement against the recreational use of mind altering substances when I’d never walked a mile in those shoes, so to speak.
83. I’ll never do that again, and my opinion about mind-altering substance use remains intact. But the blue spaghetti that I had for supper that evening was the best ever. I don’t remember what turned it blue, but it had nothing to do with the hash. Honestly.
84. On a camping trip once, in a beautiful forest by a crystal clear stream, I danced naked in the pouring rain by a blazing bonfire in the middle of the night with my face lifted up to heaven. It was bliss. Later the rain stopped and the stars came out. It was magical.
85. I climbed a mountain (a small one) once.
86. I’ve seen signs and wonders when I was paying attention.
87. I sang an Ode to Joy in the tongue of angels, standing alone under a marbled dome in the cemetary where Beethoven is buried (Vienna). It was ethereal.
88. I don’t know anything about wine, but I love cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, and merlot.
89. I’m a coffee and tea snob. Not by name brand, but the flavor, smoothness, color, etc. are of utmost importance to me. Rich and smooth, not bitter. I’m very particular that way.
90. With regard to cars and things mechanical. I used to change my own oil. I even changed out a starter. Twice.
91. My name is on a patent as a co-inventor. (Not because of my own initiative, but my lead began the submission process on a project which he, I, and one other person worked together on.)
92. It made the top ten inventions list that year. At the award ceremony, the vice-president, not knowing me from Jack, introduced me as Mister Squished Piggy. I was the only woman honored at that event.
93. I secretly enjoyed the smug feeling I experienced when his face turned beet red as he realized his faux pas.
94. I don’t like wastefulness.
95. I am very frugal. Most of the time. Except when I buy my husband things like a hot tub, a new truck, and an obscene big screen tv*. Call me sugar mama. Why is it that I can put out thousands of ‘crazy dollahs’ for something he wants with barely a blink of the eye, but I’ll interrogate him if he wants to order something that’s not on the dollar menu if we go through the McDonald’s drive thru And I’ll hmm and haw about buying myself anything, and research it to death, then feel guilty if I buy it, especially if it costs more than twenty bucks. What is wrong with me Puh-leeeeeeeze. *Okay. Those are all one time deals. Hot tub in lieu of honeymoon, which I regret getting, as I realize that I don’t like hottubs… Why Standing water, stagnating, all manner of who knows what lurking, growing in it. Sure, there are chemicals and treatments, but it’s still the same water. Ewwwwww. Not to mention the whole getting wet thing. Sometimes I don’t feel like getting wet. Hard to explain. The rest All part of my master plan to build the dream home in the state of my youth. He gets his wish list. I get mine. It’s all fair.
96. I recycle.
97. I compost.
98. I love books. The look, the smell, the feel. Hardbound is best. Leather hardbound is bestest.
99. I have the complete Oxford English Dictionary, 12 volumes plus supplement, first edition, second printing.
100. I like disco. (Who ever admits to that one !) It’s fun!!

sodrooleybeautiful
Originally uploaded by Squished Piggy.

He is so beautiful. He takes my breath away.

I caught my reflection in the mirror last night as I carried my sleeping babe to bed. A peaceful sleeping child in my arms. My arms. I saw that familiar reflection that I’ve not paid much heed to over the years, other than a simple acknowledgement – oh, that’s ‘me’. That person that is familiar, yet a stranger. And now, a child in her arms. How foreign that reflection looked. I looked upon it with thoughts and feelings of awe and wonder and gratitude. How could I, this ‘me’ that I am, be worthy of such an honor and a blessing How could I be entrusted with such a responsibility Another human life. I can hardly comprehend the largeness of it. I’ve ‘mothered’ most of my life, but I’ve not been a mother until now. It seems so foreign now, where I can still recall how natural it was in my youth. I expected it, then, and took it for granted. It was my path, my destiny. I knew it with all that I was. That was then. But it didn’t happen. Time passed. More time passed. I ached and yearned and somewhere along the line I became a foreigner. I lost that part of me. I cried so many tears. I grieved. But perhaps I have really gained, rather than lost. Perhaps I wouldn’t have had as much respect for the importance of the job, had I taken the opportunity in my youth. Perhaps I would have been more selfish in my immaturity and unwittingly and unpreparedly transferred my emotional downfalls to my own chidren as my mother so adeptly transferred hers to me, and as I see my siblings have transferred to their children, and as I see some of their children transferring to their own children. It’s tragic, to pass on the worst of ourselves, and be blind to it in the process. I pray, I pray that I don’t pass my issues on. How I want to be wide eyed and aware of all that I’m teaching my child, in my words, in my actions, in my attitudes, in my expressions. He deserves a clean slate. He came into this world in perfection. It’s my responsibility to protect him from me, the part of me that hasn’t found herself, the part of me who hasn’t arrived, who hasn’t come to terms with herself, who hasn’t embraced herself for all that she is, who hasn’t learned to honor herself as a worthy human being, as an equal in this world. I’ve heard it said that with wisdom comes sorrow. If you climb a mountain to gain wisdom, to see all that you can see, suddenly you are aware of how much more you do not know, and you find that you are less satisfied now than you were before, in your ignorance. Hence the phrase, ignorance is bliss. I saw myself last night, a mother, with a babe in her arms. I’m humbled by the responsibility of the task before me, and terrified. I don’t want to screw him up.

It’s 4 a.m. and I’ve been blogsurfing. Normally I’d be sleeping. I was falling over with exhaustion and the cool cat said, go to bed, I’ll wash up your bottles and put the leftovers away (and wake you up at midnight when it’s time to pump). 3 a.m., I see the clock, oh s#!t my boobs hurt, scowl at the cool cat sleeping peacefully and stumble downstairs. Into the kitchen to put together the bottle apparatus. But where are my bottles Soaking in the sink where I left them. Scowl in the direction of the bedroom. Notice the leftovers still on the counter. Roll eyes and scowl again, shaking head. Wash up the bottles, gather the gear, dripping milk all over my t-shirt, make my way to the pumping station, get locked and loaded, and commence blogsurfing. Normally I’m not so crabby, but I get so irritated when someone makes empty claims. If I quizz him on it in the morning he’ll just say he forgot. Being the stubborn @$$ that I am, I’ll not let it go, and still harp on why would he go to all the trouble of telling me he’d do this, that, and the other thing, and then not do any of them It would be better not to make a claim at all, rather than make one and not follow through. Arggggghhhhh!

I stumbled upon The Classic Dames Test. Don’t feel a bit classy. Only crabby. And now my schedule is all hosed up. So I’m like Myrna Loy. I agree that I don’t have much wit, per se, but I thought I had a bit more than that!

Myrna Loy You scored 26% grit, 4% wit, 33% flair, and 47% class!

You are class itself, the calm, confident “perfect woman.” Men turn and look at you admiringly as you walk down the street, and even your rivals have a grudging respect for you. You always know the right thing to say, do and, of course, wear. You can take charge of a situation when things get out of hand, and you’re a great help to your partner even if they don’t immediately see or know it. You are one classy dame. Your screen partners include William Powell and Cary Grant, you little simmerpot, you. Find out what kind of classic leading man you’d make by taking the Classic Leading Man Test.