This last winter solstice, I had a profound vision during a ceremony:
an old black telephone appeared before me, hunched in celluloid,
with a rotary dial. I could feel the weight of the heavy receiver in my
hand – it was that real. I realized that I could call anyone in the world
on it, and I pondered for a minute, trying to think of who I’d like most
to talk to at that moment – one phone call, to the person whose voice
I’d most want to hear – until it hit me. My mama, of course. To talk to
her again, to be able to have even just one conversation with her –
I think sometimes I’d give almost anything to be able to do that.
My vision faded, and I can’t really recall being able to actually get
through to her – but it was almost more the radical notion that such
a thing could actually be possible that was amazing. That, and the
raw beast of my longing for her, long buried, suddenly so close to
my face, breathing rough right next to me – a wild, savage desire
just to have my mother back with me, even if only for a moment.

Here’s my mom talking about her favorite country songs on the radio (KUT Austin) with her friend Dan Foster.
I hadn’t heard her voice for twenty-five long years, until the day I got this recording.
Her voice is the most beautiful sound in the whole world.

Maggie Cook Polacheck – KUT by Angeliska

To receive the gift of this recording, a few months after that experience,
was such a balm to that deep wound. Her voice is orange-blossom honey
and tabasco, it is the sudden flutter of bird wings, it is soft as owlet’s fluff,
or a mimosa blossom. Her singular country accent: those long a’s and
dropped g’s that I hear in my aunt’s voice – in my own when I get drunk
or go back where I came from. Her cadence is one I used to carry, too.

So, my mother was obsessed with Hank Williams. I mean – really, truly, deeply.
Our first and only family vacation was to go to his grave in Montgomery, Alabama.
She became penpals with his sister. I think she was in love with him, in a way –
in love with a lanky gray ghost, with a crooked smile and a voice that hits you
like bourbon on an empty belly – raw guts churning with lonely lost love.
I inherited her predilection for tall, skinny men with cruel lips and sad eyes,
for wastrels with hearts full of song, careening through life wearing the albatross
that is an incurable awesome death-wish around their scrawny necks. Luckily,
I got over all that a while back. I’m not sure if she ever did. Beautiful disasters
don’t really turn me on anymore – too much damage done, too many old scars…
But oh, those star-crossed troubadours! How compelling they can be.

In the same week that I received the gift of her voice, I also took a horrible blow:
I found out that the works of art she had spent the last months of her
life creating had been lost, irrevocably. It was about this worst news
I could imagine hearing – almost like losing her all over again.
This includes the painting of Hank Williams above, a work I consider her masterpiece,
the pinnacle of her creative life – her swan song. I remember her painting it, vividly.
The vintage print she took the background from, with the sheep in the moonlit pasture
hung in our kitchen. Those cactus flowers bloomed on our back patio – I remember her
photographing them. The tie Hank’s wearing is one of my dad’s – he has it still.
His hands are so beautifully done, so articulate and perfectly rendered – and his face,
his face… Rarely does any artist capture the sensitive angles and gaunt beauty that
was Hank William’s gorgeous sad face – and now to think of all that lost, to know
that it probably ended up in some dumpster, never to be seen again – it kills me.
Her dear friend who she sold them to moved cross country, and discovered upon
unpacking that the movers had somehow overlooked them. I mean, who knows –
they could be hanging above some dude’s ugly couch in a ratty trailer somewhere
in Utah. You never do know. I won’t give up hope that they’ll turn up one day,
and make their way back to me. I can barely begin to describe how badly this
discovery crushed me. For many years, I have been trying to put back together
the puzzle pieces of my mother’s life – to write about her, and to work through
this tangle of briars her death made of my heart. I’ve been fighting through that
thicket since I was a child – searching for clues, for shreds of her legacy.

When I listen to these old country songs, it’s like a message from beyond:
each one is so heartbroken, and totally unashamed. I think that’s what I love
about country music – it’s not self-conscious about coming off as maudlin –
it’s just genuine feeling, even if that feeling is crying down in a ditch,
or being blue because your son calls another man daddy. It’s having the gumption
to pick up a guitar and sing a song about it, through the tears, through the pain.
All this music that she loved so fervently, all her life – it feels like she knew
somehow, that I’d need this music one day, too. Just the song titles, even:
“When God Comes and Gathers His Jewels”
“Alone and Forsaken”
“Don’t Go”
and oh, “Crying Heart Blues”

Crying the blues
I’m crying because I have lost you
Blues I can’t lose
I guess it’s too late now to try
I’ve tried to chose another to love but it’s no use
Crying heart blues, there’s nothing that’s left but to cry

I’ll always remember I love you
My teardrops won’t let me forget
Each tear is a wish to be near you
They started the day that we met
A trail of tears will lead you to me if you want me
And from my fears, how hopeless, my crying heart flees

Yesterday I happened across this bit of wisdom from Dear Sugar, (who is beyond amazing)
responding to a woman who had miscarried her baby daughter, and found herself consumed
with grief. Her advice rang true for me, and came to me at the perfect time, so I’ll share it here:

This is how you get unstuck. You reach. Not so you can walk away from the daughter you loved,
but so you can live the life that is yours—the one that includes the sad loss of your daughter,
but is not arrested by it. The one that eventually leads you to a place in which you not only grieve her,
but also feel lucky to have had the privilege of loving her. That place of true healing is a fierce place.
It’s a giant place. It’s a place of monstrous beauty and endless dark and glimmering light. And you have
to work really, really, really fucking hard to get there, but you can do it, honey. You’re a woman who can
travel that far. I know it. Your ability to get there is evident to me in every word of your bright shining grief star of a letter.

So, this is me reaching.
These are too:

Foxes in the Rain

Triumvirate Lemniscate

Gustav + Mama – August 8th

School picture day! 7th grade. For real.

You see, we met when I was 13 and she was 11. The setting: a manky teenage boy’s bedroom in the trashiest
trailer in our neighborhood. I was in the middle of having my first kiss with a chubby boy who I agreed to try
making out with on basis of the fact that he had Robert Smith hair (sort of). The soundtrack: The Glove – Blue Sunshine.
With song titles like “Punish Me With Kisses” and “Mouth to Mouth“, it really couldn’t have been much more apt. I was much
more captivated with the album (it took me years to track it down and hear it again! Still a major favorite.) than I was
with the kissing. I think I was a little stoned, and all I could think about was giant pink slugs undulating. ¡El Grosso Maximo!
At the sound of the door creaking open, we wriggled apart, and through a veil of shaggy bangs that I thought hid my awesome
coke-bottle glasses (they totally, uh, didn’t.) I spied a feral wolf-child. A sullen cherub with a nimbus of golden curls that glowed
in the blacklight bulb. She stomped in all tough in plaid skater shorts and monkey boots. We eyed each other, and I think both
realized instantly that we were saved. Literally, in so many ways. We say it all the time, but it doesn’t make it any less true
that if we hadn’t stumbled across each other at that time in our lives, that both of us would have probably ended up dead
or worse. How fate decided to bless us by having our parents find houses right down the street from each other made up
(a bit) for all the other ways she decided to completely fuck us up. Soon, we were spending every free moment together,
hanging out in burned-out, abandoned houses after school and sneaking out of our bedroom windows to smoke pilfered
ciggies and wander around. Eventually we were dressing up like baby hooker vampires and cadging rides to nightclubs
and yet somehow made it back in our beds every night before 4am and go to school in the morning. We were wild, bad
little Lolitas, and it’s a goddamn miracle that we made it out of adolescence so (relatively) unscathed. Amazing, really.

I can’t find the picture of us as baby vampires, so instead here’s us dazed + starry-eyed after modeling in our first fashion show
at the very first New Bohemia, when it was over on Duval. Back in the day, man. We were such babies! Children! What.

Pea on St. Valentine’s Day back in our old place on Royal + Mandeville.
Observe her emu claw diadem and scars from Cupid’s arrows. Heartbreaker!

Sweet valentines. I am grateful to say that this girl was my very first lover, and who better to be initiated into
the mysteries of love than the person you love most in the world, your best friend and partner in crime?
We were lucky. We are lucky. She has taught me so much in these past (holy shit) 19 years…

Queen Marie, still from Pastrisetimania. – “Cake Sits, a fetishistic photo series.”

CYGNUS OLOR
This video is a collaboration between Dana Sherwood and The Black Forest Fancies
An incorrigible collector with an eye for the exotic captures a swan girl and holds her captive in a confectionary cabin

For the past few years, Pandora was working with the Dream Community in Taiwan,
living in rural villages, and working with the inhabitants to build large scale puppets and stage colorful parades.

I’ll let the beautiful Princess of the Puyuma tell you about it in her own words:
In this year overburdened by impossible goodbyes, I’d simply forgotten to miss Taiwan.
I’ve taken the double life summer dive headfirst into color I never can suffer at home.
The electric magenta hibiscus, relentless fuchsia and indigo of tree climbing orchids.
Tropical shades that sear the retina when viewed at midday and emanate neon through
thunderstorm gray. We have such colors in the swamps where I’ve nestled. We’ve the
requisite cruelty of the hot house garrote, anesthetized in narcotic notes of jasmine and datura.
But here these colors throb with mountains’ magic, erupting from black rock and vapour like Boschian
airships suspended in battle – a mesozoic sex display, the glow of which recalls the natal moments when
this magma formed landscape was molten. The timeless beauty of the mountains underlining indignity
of the cinderblock cityscapes, alive with devouring mold. Tree and trellis spangled with giant spiders,
Giger aliens spinning omens, and all we monstrous spinners on display.

Our parade work this year concerns the rediscovery and celebration of Taiwan’s aboriginal cultures.
There are 14 active and politically recognized tribes in Taiwan today, each with their own unique language,
mythology and cultural practices. There are at least a dozen more unrecognized tribes whose organization is
decentralized, as reflected in the death or morbidity of their language and dispersal of their genetic strains.
Archeological research suggests that the ancestors of the current tribes have been living on this island since 8000
years before Chinese immigration began in the 17th century. They have an ethnic identity that is distinct from the
Asian mainland but now comprise only 2 percent of Taiwan’s population, the majority of the population being
ethnically and linguistically Chinese. From the beginning of recorded history the aboriginal peoples have experienced
economic and military conflict with a global menagerie of covetous colonizers: western and northern Europeans,
north and south Americans, the Japanese, who came armed with the anvil of archeology. They staged digs and
opened museums, nailed bare asses into grey woolen writing desks in a thousand thatch roofed classrooms.
Turning practice into history as they systematically laid the – timeless – life of the village to waste.
A clock forever counting circles round the irrevocable bootprints of modernity.

Today as ever looms the ubiquitous spectre of lady China, face-shifting parasite sister to the all-too-proximal north.
These colonial viruses have redefined the island with almost comic regularity, invasions so frequent that they echo the
seasonal tracks of typhoon – violently resurfacing the patterns of life and landscape with language shifts and cultural
(re)assimilation. In keeping with the common plight of indigenous peoples the world over, Taiwanese aboriginals face
steep social barriers rooted in prejudice and exclusion: unemployment, substandard state provision for healthcare and
education, squalid housing and farming conditions, staggering rates of alcoholism and drug addiction. Since the 1980s
efforts have been undertaken on the part of the surviving tribes toward a revival of ethnic identity.
These include incorporating elements of their culture into commercial and artistic endeavors, pop music and pageantry.
That’s where we parade makers figure in. Putting craft through its paces and the spinners on display.

Falling in love with an enameled sewing machine. I mean, wouldn’t you?

The Mudlark Confectionary a cabinet of curious conceptions.

Dolls of The Mudlark Confectionary

Saint Dymphna
These days though, Pandora owns and operates the Mudlark Public Theatre in New Orleans upper Ninth Ward
neighborhood and is the artistic director of that space’s resident company, The Mudlark Puppeteers and co-founder
of the Black Forest Fancies Ltd. She makes puppets, dolls, sets and stories. She is a weaver of magic webs.

A puppet from The Black Wallows Foundling Hospital.

So here’s the deal, in her own words:
In the month of June I had the extreme pleasure of working as a craftswoman on an installation of my dear friend Mark Dion’s
design for a site on a National Tourist Road in Norway. The piece will be located at the top of a mountain, near a glacier
in the incomparably beautiful area of Ardal. A number of world-reknowned artists have been selected by the Norwegian
Tourist Bureau to contribute work to such sites. Notable among these is the last work of the brilliant metal artist Louise Bourgeois,
which is a memorial to the victims of the witch-burnings at Vardo Island, in the North of Norway.

I am constantly at work and seeking future opportunities. I now, a month after completing my contribution to the piece in Norway, still
haven’t even the vaguest clue as to when I will be paid. None of us do. Even Mark, with his esteemed reputation and integrality to the
completion of the project next year, has been given what can only be called ‘the serious, red-tape runaround.’ At first we were told simply
to be patient, that everything was being done in its proper order. The latest word is that all payments are on hold until the end of the
Norwegian Summer holidays – at some time in August. While the bureaucrats summer in sunnier climes, our invoices are evidently on some
Kafka-esque nightmare ride through the gears of a grim machine of the very old garde, and as in Kafka, there is no indication as to where
or when the ride might terminate. In short, I budgeted my life around money I have no access to for the indefinite future.
I have been unavailable for all other work in this period and consequently find myself at a pretty serious financial impasse.
I have had to cancel many plans, the most poignant being a visit to my hometown of Austin, TX to visit my oldest friends and
light candles at my parents’ memorials in honor of my 30th birthday, which is July 22nd.
I am hoping to sell some of my past-works, mostly hand sculpted art-dolls, to offset the deficit.
– Pandora Gastelum

If you’d like to help, please take a look at some of her work over at The Mudlark Confectionary,
and be on the lookout for her handmade art dolls for sale soon on etsy under mudlarkconfectionary
(we’re working on getting her shop up, but in the meantime, let me know if you have any questions
about purchasing pieces!) She has gifted me a new dolly for my every birthday for years, and each
one is perfect and comes intact with their very own soul. I treasure them enormously.

(Photo by Petra Arnold)
Happy birthday, star of the sea, poppy petal princess, peach-pie pea-pod, sweet sister, dearheart!

Corinne + Francesca = best bunny girls ever.

Miss Valerie, resplendent in purple and extravagantly top-hatted.

Faith + I being sweet by the tinker trailer. She just had a little baby boy!
He’s too little for Easter egg hunts this year, I reckon – but next year, maybe!

Chesley + Frannie lookin’ fine as can be.

Miss Amelia, always pretty as a picture.

Dawn wearing a gorgeous embroidered collar by Chromium Dumb Belle

My fairy-godson Sascha attacks his first piñata! Kill the bunny!

Adelle-Rose gets cascaroned!

Wee widgets with parasols – Wolfie and her best friend Madeline.

Watermelon is delicious!

Isadora, Molly Karen and Elliott, trio of adorableness.

My favorite sister Penny + Mattie – Penny made the most luscious lemon-drop cake ever!

Flip and Wolfie made these beautiful art eggs – I picked the octopus and the deer to treasure always.

Colin’s mama Becky made this wonderful lambie cake, which Canon won in the cake walk.

He was so proud of it, he wanted to take it to school for show and tell!

Katinka Pinka and her bitty sweet lemondrop of a nephew!

Steve + Emily, looking dandy-fine in their Easter Sunday best.

Two beautiful Sarahs – Sarah Marie + Sarahfina

My grampa was there, in fine fettle. I wish he could be here this year.
The headphones and radio-looking-thing are actually his preferred choice
of hearing-aid. He likes it, and it works – but people always think he’s listening
to music. I had to learn the Serbian word for hearing-aid when I was there,
because everyone was curious about them. The word is: slušni aparat

My dear papa played old tyme tunes on his banjo.

Sienna serenaded us on the ukulele.

This is what happens to Maddy when she eats a pile of sugar – she becomes a lightning-footed fairy!

She ran circles around that sycamore for about half an hour, solid. Just a blur in a bright dress!

☆♥More photos from last year can be found here:Easter 2010 set

☆♥Miss Shanna also has some sweet ones: Easter Afternoon at Angeliska’s

☆♥Easter in New Orleans

☆♥Chemists Cauterize, Chill Cadbury Cremes from Neatorama

☆♥Cadbury Egg inside chocolate cupcake

☆♥Dressed Up For Easter – Vogue asked designers to re-imagine the Easter egg.

☆♥Children scared shitless of the Easter Bunny thanks, Boing Boing!

And Easterness of yore:
☆♥Magic Windows #11

☆♥Sketchy Bunnies!

☆♥Bunnytown

☆♥Easter Egg Hunt!

I was so bummed to miss Poux, especially since it meant not being given
one of the much-coveted commemorative handmade glass medallions,
a grand Poux-doubloon if you will. Lucky stars for me! My dear friend
Forest had kept one warm and close to his heart for me. Good thing
I went out Ash Wednesday, eh? So here are my treasures, which oddly
enough I never cared about collecting until the hurricane blew me west.

Typical Poux antics. I believe this is some sort of trebuchet, no?

Randall and Drew in their amazing ensembles. They make me so happy.

Tanya Solomon (aka Dr. Flummox) is a great clown. Not the bad kind. The good kind. Really!

Liser is the big bad wolf and little red riding hood simultaneously. It happens.

Ratty and Oops were the King and Queen of Poux!
This year they won their crowns again (yes, the
naked knife-fight!) and continue to reign triumphant!

Myrtle von Damitz III, odalisque-ing out with Drew’s giant neon head.

Laron + Kelvin, two of my favorite NOLA/NYC darlings.

Jock is the leader of the 9th Ward Marching Band, a gentleman and a great dancer.

Haley Lou Haden has a stick ‘em tattoo of toast, and I love her.

Hungry for more Lundi Gras Poux?
★ Here’s more photos from Lundi Gras 2009, just for you!
★ Lundi Gras Valentine
★ Lundi Gras (A pictorial essay on the nature of debauchery)
★ Vicissitudes from Cradle
★ Voila les petites creatures musicales qui se cachent dans les fleurs!

(Photograph by @nt!x)
I can’t wait to re-inhabit our tipi-yurt-lavvu-thing!
I’m still hankering for a proper one,
but they’re quite pricey – oh, one day…

(Photograph by Oregon State University Archives)

Okay, just a heads up – this eclipse is pretty gnarly!

(Photograph by Richocam)

“The Full Moon Lunar Eclipse on December 31st, 2009
occurs at 10°15′ Cancer, in conjunction with the Fixed Star Alhena,
a star which is reputed to be favourable for hunting, besieging towns,
and the revenge of princes! It would be wise to avoid travel at this time,
if you can. Known as “the wound in the tendon of Achilles”
it destroys fruits and harvests. Cancer is an emotional sign,
ruled by the Moon, so since neither the Sun nor the Moon
form any promising aspects on this day, expect quite an emotional,
even teary New Year’s Eve. Mercury is retrograde in Capricorn,
and Mars is also retrograde in Leo, so issues and attractions
from the past will demand to be dealt with under this eclipse.
Breakdowns in communication will spark the issue.
Since at the moment of the eclipse, Warrior Mars
(action; passion; violence; accidents) is rising exactly
on the degree and minute of the ascendant,
tightly opposing the Part of Fortune (within 4 minutes of arc),
the chances of a blood-stained celebration are high.”
- Rob Tillett
Um, whoa. Yikes much?
For further reading, I suggest you
check out what Heather Burdette
has to say – it’s a little more calming!

(Photograph by Carlos Lisboa)

Regardless of celestial influence, I truly hope that
everyone has a marvelous turning of the year!
There are so many things I want to accomplish
this year, so much ground I want to cover -
it’s a little overwhelming to contemplate!
I’m starting slowly and quietly, cleaning
and sweeping my house to make it ready for
the approval of the Blanchette, and lighting
candles and making wishes that this year
I can achieve my goals – no more Procrastination
Station, please!

“You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestation of your own blessings!”

I read this somewhere recently, and it made a big impression on me.
(So much so, that I can’t recall where I read it? Eesh.)
I think that this will be my motto for the year,
in hopes that I will be reminded to take the reins
for myself and stop waiting around for divine
intervention to crown me empress of my life.
Drive your own chariot to the moon.
Now or never!

(Photographer unknown to me!)

“Begin doing what you want to do now.
We are not living in eternity.
We have only this moment,
sparkling like a star in our hand -
and melting like a snowflake…”
- Francis Bacon, Sr.

Here’s a little happy/sad number called Days With You
from fine fellows Jason Webley with Sxip Shirey.
Watch out – it is extremely catchy!
Hopefully you can remember the words
and sing it tipsily with your best friends, eh?

More reading material from days of yore:
✶ Lone Grove New Year – 2009
✶ Pink Moons
✶ The New Year – 2008
✶ Lucky Stars and Garters – 2007
✶ La Nouvelle Année – 2006

This scene made a huge impression on me.

(Photo by Isado)

I always grew up hearing “The devil is beating his wife!”
whenever a sunshower happened- it’s apparently
a Southern thing. I peeked around and found a wealth
of lore regarding this meteorological phenomenon
(on Wikipedia, of course) which I will share now
with you, because it’s fantastic:

* In South African English, it is referred to as a “monkey’s wedding,”
a loan translation of the Zulu umshado wezinkawu, a wedding for monkeys.
In Afrikaans, it is referred to as jakkalstrou, jackals wedding, or also
“Jakkals trou met wolf se vrou as dit reen en die son skyn flou”, meaning
“Jackal marries Wolf’s wife when it rains and the sun shines faintly.”
* In Hindi it is also called “the jackal’s wedding.”
* In Bengali it is called a devil’s wedding.
* In Arabic, the term is “the rats are getting married.”
* Bulgarians speak of the Devil’s marrying.
* In Korea, a male tiger gets married.
* In various African languages, leopards are getting married.
* In Kenya, hyenas are getting married.
* One animal, the fox, crops up all over the world, from Kerala to Japan
(Japan also refers to it as ‘Kitsune (the fox) takes a bride,’);
there’s even an English dialect term, “the foxes’ wedding,”
known from the south west of England. In Calabria, Italy,
it is said that “when it rains with sun, the foxes are getting married.”

In Polish, the saying is that “when the sun is shining and the rain is raining, the witch is making butter.”
For Filipinos, “elves are getting married”, or “tikbalang” (half-horse, half-men) and a “kapre” are getting married,
while in Spain it is witches, and in Greece it is the poor.

In Lithuanian, the phenomenon is described as “orphans’ tears,”
where the sun is the grandmother drying those tears.
In Russian, it is called грибной дождь (gribnoy dozhd’), “mushroom rain,”
as such conditions are considered favorable to growing mushrooms.
It is also often referred to as слепой дождь (slepoy dozhd’}, which literally translates as “blind rain”.

In the United States, particularly the South, a sunshower is said
to show that “the devil is beating his wife.” In German, the variation is
“Wenn’s regnet und die Sonne scheint, so schlägt der Teufel seine
Großmutter: er lacht und sie weint,” or “When it’s raining and the sun shines,
the devil is beating his grandmother: he laughs and she cries.”
Similar phrases occur in Hungary and Holland. The lower Caribbean
also has a notable variant, “The devil and his wife are fighting for a bone”.
A regional variant from Tennessee is “the devil is kissing his wife.”

Well, whaddya know! What do you call it?

Today was poignant and pensive for me, so I was glad to have
such a benediction to marvel at and frolic in.
August 8th is the 22nd anniversary of my mother’s death.
Hard to fathom, really. It’s something I’ve been processing
very slowly- and for many, many years (most of my childhood)
not at all. My aunt gave me some things that were hers recently:
her hand-tooled guitar strap, her psychedelic sculpture, a painting.
There’s so much I want to understand about who she was,
and who I am- and the only way I can find to do it is by writing.

Look at her beautiful red curls! That’s me when I was very new,
and my cousin all pink-cheeked and bowl-headed.
I feel that at some point in my life, part of my work
will be focused on helping people deal with death + loss.
I get so angry when I think about how much we’ve lost the
ability to mourn our dead, and the loss of our traditions
and even our words to speak of grief. Or, truly- to listen.
It’s not something to be spoken of, or written about
these days, and that’s just wrong. I will not spend another
day of my life tip-toeing around it, and one day
I hope to change the way death is processed in this country.
Our culture has lost its memory- the roads we traveled to
get to where we are now are buried and lost.
More on this soon- it’s a subject I’m very passionate about,
and I’d be grateful to hear your views on it.

For further reading on the subject of mi madre and this date,
turn back the pages of the bee-log and read:

Triumvirate Lemniscate

Gustav + Mama – August 8th

We adopted a puppy! Well, she’s six months old-
but that still counts, right? I was walking past the
Austin Pets Alive adoption station after work the
other day, and she caught my eye.
She’s super wiggly, and thus really difficult
to photograph- especially if you want to be in
the picture with her! I have lots of blurry
nose-licking shots of us now.

May I present: Prinzesse Grrizelda!
She came with the name Zelda, which we like-
so she’s that for short. As in Zelda Fitzgerald
and let’s not forget Zelda Rubinstein
who portrayed the seer Tangina in Poltergeist!
Clearly, she’s a Prinzesse because her favorite spot
is the velvet loveseat. How fancy- ooh-la-la chienne!
She’s part German Shepherd, part something else-
probably black lab, with pointy ears and big feet.
I love her soft black coat with silvery smoke frosted shadows
on her haunches, and the white star over her heart.

I fall more and more in love with her every moment.
She’s super-lovey, incredibly sweet natured
and curls up in the bed with her head on the pillow!
I was so relieved to discover that she’s good around people
and the other animals. For the most part she’s remarkably
well behaved. That is, except when left to her own devices..

There has been one casualty since Prinzesse Grrizelda’s arrival:
R.I.P. Granny Wolf – she was gifted to me after the hurricane,
and provided much joy and comfort in those dark days.

She will be missed. Most especially by Rusty Jacknife,
who did like to bite her snoot- though not as much as some!

I found this bit of evidence (her eyeball!), which I shall make into jewelry.

The crime-scene: Zelda’s nest of destruction, which we discovered
after coming home from dinner the other night. The first few days
were fine, but I think she was feeling a bit cooped up, and had
some separation anxiety being away from us. She made this
little party palace with our dirty socks and underpants,
unspooled balls of twine, chewed on pill-bottles,
shredded boxes, smashed perfume bottles,
and yes- chewed off Granny Wolf’s face!
I mean, I guess it’s lucky that she has other heads-
(regular Granny and Red Riding Hood under the skirt)
but obviously, I always loved Granny Wolf’s face best.
Oh yes, and she also devoured a big box of dates
and then the next day vomited all over the house.
Something like 17 piles of dog barf- in the bed, too.
Welcome to having a puppy! You know you really
love your dog when you look at them after all of
this and just want to cuddle them anyway.

Thelonius still has not regained his sight,
though he is adjusting admirably.
It’s been so hard for us to accept.
As far as we can tell, he has
Vogt-Koyanagi-Harada (VKH) syndrome.
It’s a hereditary auto-immune disease
where the T-cells attack the pigmented cells-
everywhere. When his little black nose started
turning white, we realized what we were dealing with.
He’s on a lot of medication, but seems to be doing better.
We are hoping that having a companion will be good
for him, and he likes Grrizelda, though sometimes
her antics make him curmudgeonly and snappish,
though that’s to be expected from any 9 year old dog.
He’s the smartest, most wonderful dog in the world.
I am so proud of him for figuring out the world
all over again, without the benefit of vision.
He’s a damn strong dog- I love him so.

Look at these gorgeous pups! I am such a lucky lady,
to have such marvelous canine companions.
Growing up, I was never a dog person- I always had my kitty
(Oh, don’t click on that link unless you want to cry!
I just re-read it after all these years, and bawled my eyes out.)
I liked dogs, but I never pictured myself having one of my very own.
When I was staying in New York years ago, I got really lonely.
I found I could relate to people’s dogs better than with the people
themselves. The people were closed off, tense and in a hurry.
Their dogs were always open, excited and happy to see me.
Visiting with stranger’s friendly dogs was one of the things
that got me through that rough autumn. I realized how
wonderful they are, how loyal and how brave.
Grrizelda’s happiness and relief to have finally found a home are palpable.
She was found wandering way out in the country, dumped
on the side of the road most likely. How could anyone ever do that?
Her training’s going well- she’s a smart dog, and already is
getting all the basic commands. I’m going to work really hard
to make sure that she develops into an incredible dog-friend.

I feel like I’m ready now. I think she’s the one I’ve been waiting for.

Tell me your puppy tales, please! Have any useful tips for us?
I’ve been reading a lot, and learning so much-
but there’s a lot of information out there.
I think I need a really solid book- any recommendations?
Thanks in advance, sweet folks!

Isn’t my dad dashing? This is from his days of studying zen and fencing
at UCLA. Very Errol Flynn! Happy 100th birthday, also to the King of Swashbucklers!

My dad raised me for many years after my mom died, all by himself.
I can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for him.
He did a great job, and continues to astound me with his patience,
generosity and unconditional love. He read me stories every night,
and taught me how to read by the time I was around 3 or 4.
Hop On Pop! The Color Kittens! The Thirteen Clocks!
He spawned a voracious reader, who is still excited by his book recommendations.
Oh yes, and incidentally- he has totally revolutionized the method by which
reading is taught! He teaches adult literacy in prisons and has a truly
remarkable success rate. I could go on and on, seriously- but for now,
let me just say that he is also an incredible musician
(banjo, uilleann pipes, accordion, concertina, various whistles + recorders, etc.)
and that he is a spiritual seeker who taught me to revel in the great mystery.
Also, I used to hate a lot of things my Dad was into:
Sacred Harp (or Shape Note) singing, polenta,
quinoa, NPR, t’ai chi- now of course, I love all those things!
Go figure. I am the apple- he is the tree.

This is my beloved Grampa Charlie, holding my pop when he was a bairn.
I wonder what that enormous book they’re reading is? It must be something
pretty fantastic, because that baby is captivated!
Obviously, the book thing runs in the family.

Where to even begin to explain the wonderfulness that is my Grampa?
I cannot do him justice in little snippets, but hopefully I will be able to
embark of a project that will allow him to speak for himself, and share
his marvelous stories- of which there are many. He is 95 years old,
and he still beats me at gin rummy regularly. Sometimes I think he
gets out more than I do! We’ve traveled all over the world together:
if you feel like scrolling back through the archives, you can read
tales of our adventures through most of Europe, Scandinavia and the Balkans!

Contradiction: Oberon and Titania

In honor of Midsummer’s Eve, and the solstice,
and for my dad, who introduced me to the work
of Richard Dadd (who incidentally, killed his
own father- eek!) namely, The Fairy Feller’s
Master Stroke, (which is possibly my favorite painting)
I will share with you the treasures I have found floating through
John Coulthart’s Feuilleton, a veritable trove of wonder
which entertains and enlightens me almost daily.
Here are some succulent midsummer tidbits from his archives:

✹ A Midsummer Night’s Dadd

✹ Arthur Rackham’s Midsummer Night’s Dream

✹ William Heath Robinson’s Midsummer Night’s Dream

✹ Another Midsummer Night

This is my little neighbour, Miss Adelle Rose-
is she not the prettiest child you have ever seen?
My family and friends brought their wee ones,
lots of babies and tinies hopped up on sugar,
hunting for eggs and smashing cascarones!
Our house and garden are thoroughly sprinkled
with colorful confetti and eggshells..

Miss Nicole showed up in the best outfit ever-
extremely pregnant in ballerina tutu, stripeys, and pink cowgirl boots!
She is totally gorgeous and radiant and due in one week!

Alix and I in our Easter Sunday best!
I recycled my candy covered epaulette from the Eris parade
(yes, pictures really are coming soon- promise!)
and it became a dandy chapeau- the children were tantalized
by the bon-bons and wanted to attack me and eat all the candy!

Mlle. Katinka Pinka and Mister P. laughing in a sunbeam..

This is Pearl’s doll, Priscilla- she is 89 years old and only eats cottonballs.

Jason F. Austin and Mlle. Alisan, sporting fabulous ears!
Hers are made of her own hair and apple-blossoms.. Incroyable!
The picnic spread was lovely- lots of rice dishes! Chinese tea-eggs
were a favorite, and rainbow sherbet punch! Excellent with gin, natch.

Can you believe this iris? It smells like Vanilla Orchid Cream sno-balls
from SnoWizard on Magazine street in New Orleans. For real.

Driving out into the country we last week we found this field of bluebonnets
and bunnies. Of course we had to stop and take pictures! They are on flickr,
as are more easter photos! Very happymaking.

Follow for more birthday adventures in the black forest..!

I bought this lovely Surprise Shell at Tail of the Yak
when I was in San Francisco, and had been faithfully saving it
until my birthday morning! I would tell you what was in it,
but that would ruin the surprise- so you’ll just have to go get one of your own!

Birthday mornings in particular are very sacred to me,
and should be as blissful as possible- sleeping late and then
a luxurious bath and magical breakfast with two of my most
favorite people! The sun was shining, alighting on flowers and
tea steaming up and so many sweet treasures from dear friends!
Above are some from Mlle. Verhext, wonderful music mixes,
the most beautiful necklaces (a mysterious abalone pendant
and the coveted antler woman necklace from Theatre of Dreams!)
So amazing. Also the Fairy Wood flavored pastilles from Leone-
one of my favorite candies, and the best chai from Crixa Cakes
and gorgeous jackets of cerulean silk velvet and emerald rose brocade!
I was blessed with so many kind and generous gifts from my sweetlings
that it really requires a separate post to do them justice. Seriously.

We stayed up until 6am the night before transforming our crazy, crumbling
renovation project palace into a magical black forest! It’s amazing what you
can accomplish in a few hours with the help of friends- we strew twigs
and branches hither and thither and decked the walls with frost flecked
red currants and fairytale dollies and forest creatures..

My love found these tossed out christmas trees on the road
and hung them from the rafters- it’s incredible how much it changed
the space. The acoustics, the delicious pine smell, the shape of the room..
Needless to say, they’re still up there. I think when we finish the house,
we must absolutely have a forest room- it’s so peaceful and lovely!

On the subject of forest creatures- I just can’t resist showing off my wonderful
prize from my friends and colleagues Mr. Garbs and Mme. Cornelius
who bestowed upon me my dearest wish- a taxidermied fox!
I have been half-heartedly trying to build it back up-
with little success. It has become so expensive, even for the old
rotty pieces that I favor. I have been wishing for a fox for so long-
I couldn’t believe my eyes. His name is Alavester, and he is half albino.

Eeeee! Thar be foxees in those trees!

Despite my dour glower, I am truly filled with glee in this photograph-
because though it took an hour to wrangle with my headdress,
I am finally dressed fittingly and thus the party can begin!

These two ladies, however, were truly the belles of the ball!
Amelia and Linda were both so gloriously beautiful and antler bedecked
that there was an audible gasp from the assembled guests when this
photograph was taken- such savage elegance, ooh-la!

Everyone’s costumes were so outstanding- every little detail
coaxed from their bits and bobs into miracles of millinery,
folktales turned into fabric and feathers!
Above is a detail from Mlle. Coffey’s Firebird ensemble..

Her date for the evening, Mr. Yates cames dressed as Little Otik!
He made a perfect Otesánek, telling tales in the leaves
around a roaring fire underneath the bare branches..

I nearly died however, when I saw the gingerbread man!
He made this a few hours before the party- and wore it all night long.
His mouth fell off at one point, so it’s stuck on with one of
my bobby pins he found on the floor- which makes it even better-
Gingerbread genius, MacGyver style!

This is the red-headed huntress who pierced
my heart with a thousand flame-tipped arrows.
Please note that her bodice is made from the skin
of a wee spotted fawn- ah! I swoon.

This fabulous piñata was created by Miss Katinka Pinka and her beau Lee-
it is the terrible bear with the severed head of Goldilocks!
I slew the bear (singlehandedly!) to avenge her, and delectable
green tea candies spewed out from his body!

My dearest Francesca was the ideal Tyrolean mädchen!

She and darling Annie created this work of art disguised as a piñata.
His/her name is Sissel (Or Cecil) and was so gorgeous that I could not
bring myself to destroy it! Instead we performed ritual surgery with giant scissors
and found that the chest cavities were stuffed with all manner of booty!

Including myrrh, firecrackers, cute barrettes, feathers,
fortune cookies, fancy chocolates and saint medals!

Not to mention roses of Jericho (aka Selaginella lepidophylla) with hand lettered instructions!

If you don’t already have one, I highly recommend one of these strange
and wonderous plants for your amusement and spiritual cleansing needs!

One of the best surprised of the evening was all of my sweet relatives
that appeared amongst the branches- my parents and wee nieces,
my aunt and uncle and no less than five cousins! It was so great
to have them there, family and lots of tiny little girls!
My dear papa played songs about crows on his banjo, much to our delight!

This is my cousin Luke, dressed as Gretel..
He came with Hansel and the Gingerbread man in tow,
and their little fairytale trio were the life of the party!

This was taken around the fire, about 6am.
It makes me burst into cackles every time-
Faith Delphi laughing at the Gingerbread Man
passed out in the leaves- he had gotten a hold
of a bottle of Night-Train (don’t ask!)
and well…

Dare I say it was the best birthday yet? Yes, I do!
I had no less than three birthday cakes- and all
were insanely delicious and attractive, as you can see..
The one above was made by Miss Nicoletta,
and another made by Miss Patience, and a sumptuous
german chocolate cake from Miss Evelyn! Hot damn, ladies!
There were impromptu performances and surprises
galore, so many wonderul people and music,
and all my wishes were granted, simultaneously!
Did I mention that it was a full moon that night?
I feel incredibly loved and lucky, and I thank everyone
in my life who has made it so! Besos, besos, besos!