Thousands of federally protected horses and burros that belong to the American people have disappeared—this is the story of our loss of something precious. This article by Dave Phillips of The New York Times captures the culmination of a year’s intense work by Clare Staples of Skydog Sanctuary to expose and bring to light the corrupt sales-to-slaughter abuse at the Bureau of Land Management.

Link to article: The New York Times

With this heartbreaking news, I continue my work…I’ve been following this unfolding story as I’m a supporter of Skydog Sanctuary and Clare Staples’ work to raise awareness of the issues of our wild, free-roaming horses and burros (link to website with the documentary trailer for Blue Zeus*update, the film is now on Prime Video). This page is from the They Shall Be Protected sketchbook that I made in 2020. It is the prototype for the larger project They Shall Be Protected that I’ve been working on for several years. I’m slowly creating the artwork, cutting linoleum to make the horse and burro shapes, and I have cut two helicopters so far, with another one sketched out to be cut. It’s a long-overdue project, and I want to do it right.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Well, well, well...it was bound to happen after 31 years; our well pump gave up on Monday morning...RIP Welly Pump, you did your job...well. It’s an unexpected event, and a major expense that took a big bite out of our savings for a new roof…I was making forward progress, and now I’m back on my heels. Oh, well. The Well Guyz responded quickly, identified the problem, pulled the old pump out, and dropped the new one in, wired and ready to go, and we have water again 2 1/2 hours later. The older of the two guyz said, “You have a good well.” I told him, it’s always been good water. (I can’t stand drinking the city water or bottled water.) Cold water from 300 feet down, drilled through rock.

The part of the garden surrounding the well head is beat up, as expected. I did take the weed whacker to the primroses before they arrived, so it’s not going to be pretty in that area for the rest of the summer, but the primroses are tough; they might make a comeback for an autumn show (wait n’ see). I’ll finish cleaning up the trampled coneflowers and red bee balm this morning.

Whatever I wanted to post yesterday was hijacked by the unexpected; I’ll finish it for another day. I need the silt in my brain to settle. But here are my two latest sketches…the end of one Sketchbook and the beginning of a new one.

I finished Sketchbook #29 on the 9th, and started Sketchbook #30 last night; this sketchbook measures 10 x 7 1/2 inches (#29 was only 6 x 6 inches). I change sketchbook sizes and shapes for the challenge of having to adjust my mark-making to fit in a new “environment.”

It’s a very simple sketch, graphite dust brushed on with fine grit sandpaper and gone over with an eraser to smudge it a little bit to set it on the paper surface.

This cover of Alanis Morissette’s Uninvited by Brandi Carlile is pretty amazing…a perfectly unhinged performance.

Then, here’s Harper Lee making biscuits on me; so determined and serious about her craft of biscuit making! What a happy kitty!

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Indecisive weather. Yesterday was blustery and damp from occasional rain showers. My poor garden has taken a beating because of the hard downpours and the windiness. Oh well, ‘tis the season. I haven’t ventured out into the garden yet this morning to pick the Japanese beetles off my roses, chase down anything that got blown away, prop up any flowers that need propping, check for any damage, and pick my peas. It’s always something in the garden...

August 3rd.

This date has one too many associations…I woke up this morning and remembered them…

The first one is 8/3/1989, my first day at my new job in the art collection. Here I am…

I found this old picture of me from back then, but it’s not from this date. I don’t know who took the photo or when; I found it unexpectedly while looking for something else. It’s just a picture of little me, so young, back when I was finally finding my footing at a day job, which turned out to be the best job for someone like me. It was a good place to be. It was an art collection; I was surrounded by artwork every day. I learned more about art, artmaking processes, and artists that aren’t on the top 40 Greatest Hits of Art History than I ever learned in a classroom or studio; it was the visual, hands-on experience I needed. From 1989 to the day I walked out the back door for the last time in 2022, I experienced a lot. I did more than grow—I flourished in spite of the imperfect elements that would trip me up from time to time. (Life be that way.) On occasion, I do grieve how things ended, because I did love my job, but thankfully, I left on my own terms and walked away with no regrets. I shed the place like a skin and came out on the other side of it to follow my bliss. I have a good life here on my acre of the world; this is what I always wanted. A place to live, to be happy, to make art, and to write.

Wow…I just witnessed a hummingbird fight buzzing around my dining room window…they’ve been so scrappy lately…wait, they’re always scrappy!

The second event was 8/3/2011, when my mom passed away after suffering a massive brain bleed on the evening of 8/2/2011. I sat by her bedside in a hospice room at the hospital throughout the night; she passed shortly after noon.

She got up every morning and made her bed. Even on her last day of life, she did it. She never knew what hit her when she had the stroke that day. This is such an iconic image—it’s better than a photograph of her.

On July 29th, I wrote this little poe-umm about grieving—not to dwell on it or anything, but this one came about with the brevity of a sigh.

Too much of too many for too long
to grieve for everything.
Too many tears to shed
and nowhere to put them safely.
There’s no way to inventory 
what each one was for.
Not enough time to grieve 
before the next thing 
comes along 
to grieve. 

This photo of wee Elizabeth came up in my Facebook feed as a memory from a year ago on this day. She was supervising me cleaning her stall. I miss her sweet presence in my life very much, and I will very likely always miss her in the years to come. I’ve had my weepy moments every now and then—this is to be expected as it’s still fairly fresh, and my grieving was interrupted by life moving on to the next thing...

The passing of Glen Hansard in a motorcycle accident is yet another grief…

The Parting Glass is an ironically appropriate song for the day…today is the day of the public wake in Dublin.

Then there’s Falling Slowly…

With the dark, there is always light…don’t forget that, even on the rainy days there is joy.

The bloom of the Spotted Bee Balm in my garden is an image of natural joy if there ever was one to be seen; it appears to celebrate being alive! (A photo from the weekend, not this cloudy morning!)

It wouldn’t be August without the beautiful Rose of Sharon blooming in my garden; this shy little lovely peeking out from under a big leaf barely caught my eye on the first day of August.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

First things first, look at this little baby! Yesterday was little Schmoo’s birthday; he’s 3 years old (already?)

He’s grown up into this handsome fellow wearing yellow, but sometimes, he’s still that little kitty with a tippy head (he did plenty of tippy head during the photo shoot, but all the pictures are blurry). I suspect now that he’s fully grown as grown up as he can get, he will start becoming “wider” as tabbies tend to do! There are two things that he does every day (other than sleep and play): he tips his head when I talk to him, and his tail gets bushy when he’s surprised by something or very excited about whatever makes him excited, which can be anything or nothing at all...he is a silly little dude.

Monday is usually my normal posting day, but because it was going to be our last sunny day for a few days, I spent as much time as I physically could in the garden getting things done…then it got too hot too soon. I tucked in for the afternoon on the porch couch with Harper Lee. I worked on sketches of running horses and burros for the They Shall Be Protected project, a journal entry (handwritten in a notebook). I read Orlando (Virginia Woolf, might be the second time I’ve read it). I also played a few rounds of Mahjong on my ancient tablet…a good game for a brain reset, which is sometimes very necessary.

This photo is of the battle with Creeping Charlie…and a few other weeds that were being obnoxious. My garden suffered a lot while I was doing Grand Jury duty…I’m so glad my time with the Grand Jury is over. I’m nearly done processing the experience; in other words, it’s taking up less brain space as the days go by. Some things still linger in the daily background brain noise; some are unforgettable images. I would come home feeling punch drunk. Thankfully, I was in with a good group of people; there wasn’t a malcontent in the mix, everyone was chill. It really was an interesting experience; saying it was “A Lot” is the best nutshell answer whenever I was asked, “So how is Grand Jury?” Not being able to talk about any of it with anyone was hard. I needed to decompress, so writing fragments in dribs and drabs helped release the pressure a little bit. It took a lot of brain space to process all the cases I heard. When I got home after each session (usually twice a week, sometimes three days), all I wanted to do was veg out or sleep. The inconsistent schedule was problematic at times; I couldn’t plan anything. Now that the wildfire smoke has shifted to somewhere else and the summer cold that I came down with on my last day of jury duty finally worked its way out of my system, I’m keeping my hands dirty. Now it’s going to rain most of this week, so…I’ll do what I can to stay on top of it.

It’s the final week of July—summer is almost over—I’m feeling it already! I’m soaking it up as much as I can, as I know winter is coming and I’m already mentally and physically preparing for it.

I’m doing a lot of prep work for the They Shall Be Protected project: sketches and cutting the linoleum stamps. It is timely right now as the Bureau of Land Management is currently conducting helicopter roundups in several herd management areas; they are devastating. They’re not leaving enough horses on the range for genetic viability. This isn’t population control; this is purposeful extinction of the wild horse and burro herds in the western United States. I’m looking forward to beginning the paintings once my garden is done for the season, and I have a long winter ahead for splashing paint and ink around.

This is what I’ve been working on:

Bills are going through the process in Congress to stop the helicopter roundups, and to encourage the use of PZP fertility control that has been proven effective in keeping the populations under control in test herds, such as the Virginia Range. There is also a Bill to prevent the protected wild horses and burros from being shipped to slaughterhouses in Canada and Mexico. None of this should be happening at all because they are federally protected by law signed by President Nixon in 1971...but special interests got their money involved. Federally protected until you’re an inconvenience for someone who wants what you’ve got...

On the writing side of my creative life, I have at least three, maybe four poems in the works, but they’re so all over the place I need to wrangle the words…it’s a wait-and-see; to be fair, they need to simmer for a little longer.

I’m struggling to get back into a consistent groove with the Drinking From the Fishbowl manuscript; every visit with it is exciting. I’m so happy with how it’s above and beyond what I started with over 20 years ago when I first jotted down conversations between three people with no names. In spite of my satisfaction, I’m so full of doubt. I catch myself asking: Is it still relevant? The time and place are before 9/11—it’s a different time, so much has changed since then, yet some things haven’t changed at all. I’m not going to reconfigure the story to fit current sensibilities, because it wouldn’t work. It’s about a time; it’s about dreams and realities of that time and the people living it…One of these days, the book will be published, as is, warts and all. It’ll be fine. It will get into the hands of readers who need it.

Today is a good rainy day, so we’ll see what is accomplished by the end of today! I’m realistic; I set small goals. I pick one, finish it, and go to the next one. Otherwise, I’d be spiraling and accomplishing nothing at all!

A little video of Harper Lee spying on me from her catnip corner in the lower garden…I had a feeling I was being watched, so I followed the sound of purring!

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Hope is the thing with feathers…
That’s what my friend,
Emily Dickinson, wrote 
a very long time ago.
Unfortunately, 
hope can be flighty 
and might poop on 
my best intentions. 
(You can quote me on that shit.)

The voice recording isn’t the best, I’m still a little croaky from the viral dregs that have decided to linger a little longer because of the smoke in the air and the weather…

Enjoy.

It’s a wee bit smoky out there in the garden; it’s a little better this morning, but they say the afternoon will be getting worse.

I’m staying safe as the jet stream is carrying wildfire smoke through our area; at times, our air quality has been in the “unhealthy for some” to “unhealthy for all” range. I wear a mask whenever I go outside, and I only go out for brief periods to weed and water the garden and to visit with Harper Lee.

Seeing pictures and videos of the fires and the devastation is heartbreaking. I feel terrible for our neighbors in Canada… they’re losing everything, people have been displaced in minutes, they’re refugees now, there’s nothing left to go home to. I’ll say, “I can’t imagine.” Unfortunately, I can imagine, and it’s terrifying. I hope they get rain soon to help with the fires.

I took a video of the haze on Wednesday morning…

My last day of Grand Jury duty was on July 7^th…I’m still shaking the residue out of my brain…it was a very intense experience and has rattled me to the core; it was a lot to go through. When it was over, and I was settling in that evening, I realized that gritty feeling in my throat with a tickle-cough wasn’t allergies; I was coming down with a cold—you know, I can’t catch a break—what the fuck, it’s been one thing after another...Mercury is in Retrograde, I guess. Tea with honey and other remedies got me through to the other side this week. I’m still coughing on occasion, but that’s to be expected as viruses tend to take their time to go away, plus the smoke in the air is an irritant, so…yeah, it takes time. (It’s made its rounds in our household; our son brought it home just before the 4^th of July, and now My Fred has it, but he’s on the other side of it at last.)

I thought I’d share a few of my nightly sketches in Sketchbook #29 (it measures 6 x 6 inches).

The sketches only take 5- 10 minutes…each one is different…the first marks I make on the page are random, so I’m only following where they go; there’s nothing premeditated, I’m not trying to make it look like anything, but occasionally, a tree happens…

Pencil drawing has always been my creative reset button, and my sketches and more finished drawings push the graphite medium toward “painterly” rather than straight graphic line drawing. You’d be surprised how versatile an ordinary No. 2 pencil can be, but my favorite pencil to draw with is Ebony; that’s a very dark graphite, not too soft, and it doesn’t break as easily as other pencils in the 4B-6B range of softness.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

This video features hundreds of personal objects mailed to Amanda Palmer by patrons around the globe. Back in 2018, as part of "There Will Be No Intermission", she asked all the patrons to send things they wanted to get rid of; she promised to burn everything herself after the world tour.

But COVID happened, she was stranded in New Zealand for 2 1/2 years alone with her young son, as well as dealing with a messy divorce. By the time she made it back to the States, and what was once her home, she had to quickly pack up everything, and move out. Before she left, she fulfilled the burning of the things (the plan did include the local fire department being involved.)

I did contribute two small sketches from The Book of Time project:

These two small pages are about the passage of time - two pages, one black with white hash marks and one gray with black hash marks, marking the passage of time, like prisoners in a cell would mark the passing days. The question I was asking myself was, "Where did the time go?" (These were my mother-in-law's last words before she died in 2010.) What she said kept echoing in my head every day. I was getting pissed off about how fast time was flowing for me and how I wanted so badly to enjoy life, not going around with this burden of wasted time...to quote Thoreau “To live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life and to see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived….” (Which I do quote in my novel Drinking From the Fishbowl.) At the time (2018), I was going through some really stressful shit at work, and it wasn't healthy (and it didn’t get any better) I immersed myself in this art project, which helped me in many ways, to purge, to move on, to go forward… like time. I sent those small pages to be purged in the fire. Now that I've been retired from the day job for the last four years, it's so fitting that they were finally being burned, and the resulting video is the culmination of everything Amanda Palmer has been through and of those of us who sent things to be burned. The passage of time is even more stunning now that my wee donkey, Elizabeth, passed away in May. I miss her horribly, and time keeps ticking away…life goes on, and I don’t feel like I’ve had time to grieve.

With that said, here’s the video…

The release of this video is…timely.

Spin Magazine has already posted an article:

Amanda Palmer New Music Video

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

I miss my wee donkey very much, but I feel she’s still with me in spirit.

Turn it up!

The Lower Garden is nearing peak bloom these last few days. We’ve had a heat wave so not much got done about the weeds and the garden path still needs to be mulched, I just finished digging the edge going down and having to set aside a few plants for transplanting after the weather cools down...my garden tends to have a mind of its own, which I don’t mind, but I do need a path through the wilderness! (Plus I’m tired of mowing the grass path and having grass migrate into the flowerbeds.)

When I think back to 1995 when we moved in, this area was choked with golden rod, black berry pricker bushes, grape vines, Virginia Creeper, goldenrod, sumac, dockweed, lots of catnip, and a variety of other weeds, big spiders, and lots of barn cats with kittens. (We were glad there was no poison ivy, as it was an active farm in the past, they weren’t going to put up with having that around.)

It’s still barely tamed, I’m fully aware that Mother Nature will take it all back in no time should I ever neglect it. (There have been times over the years when I’ve been ill or had an injury when things got out of hand, it really does not take long!)

I do tend to grow flowers that “take over the world” and I prefer to have a garden that self seeds and always has something in bloom throughout the season. There are still some garden beds that need a little bit more work, it’s been a work in progress!

The Sundrop Primroses are in full bloom. These originated from my mother’s garden. She gave me about a dozen plants when we first moved here…now I have thousands of them, and I transplant a few of them every year. They spread and spread and spread. I have a few ladies who drive slowly by our house to look at them. If they ever stop to ask, I will be happy to dig up a bunch and share them.

Bee Balm always blooms in time for the 4th of July…they look like fireworks to me!

I grew up calling them tiger lilies, some people call them day lilies, some call them ditch lilies...whatever their name, I love them. They came with the house. They remind me of summers being a kid fresh out of school, going on bike hikes with my friends and the orange tiger lilies in the roadside ditches were always there. Summertime landmarks.

Butter and Eggs…I do love these tiny flowers, they remind me of snapdragons...I discovered them one day many years ago in the North Garden and have protected the little spot where they were growing for the last two or three years, and this year they have spread further into the garden. I finally looked them up on Google and have been informed that they are invasive...well all right...I don't mind. They're in good company with Dame's Rocket and others in that garden! I’m still waiting for the Chicory to bloom, the Queen Anne’s Lace is just starting, I do like the combination of the two side-by-side. The little Butter and Eggs add a little more color to that corner.

Peachy Rose, she’s a rose bush that I rescued from a sale table many years ago, I bought her for $5. She isn’t fussy at all. She’s happy to be alive, and blooms beautifully every summer and has even bloomed well into the fall, and once in December when we were having an unusually warm autumn with 60 degree days in December.

The milkweed is in full bloom now, and this honey bee is gorgeous!

With the milkweed, the Monarchs have come! She’s busy fluttering around and laying her eggs, and wasn’t into posing for very long.

Harper Lee keeping cool during the heat wave, and enjoying the catnip I picked for her. She hasn’t been very cooperative when it comes to being brushed, so she’s a bit ratty looking, and shedding like mad. I’m lucky if she allows me a few swipes with the brush before she takes a swipe at me…I have to “brush” the porch couch every day because she leaves behind her silky fluff in her favorite spot.

Sketchbook #29 is quickly filling up, I do a Scribble Fest at the beginning of every month, this is the one for July.

I’m still serving on the Grand Jury, and my duty is almost over. It’s been an interesting experience to say the least. It is A LOT. That’s the best way to describe it. I’m not fond of the inconsistent schedule, and not being able to plan anything with certainty has caused me to come to a near standstill creatively, so writing anything new is spotty, I have a few things in progress, but they are fragments, which might lead to one of those multi-layered stream of conscious-y poe-umms. There’s always the possibility that we might have to stay on duty a little longer if a case we’ve heard needs to keep us a little longer to finish hearing all the charges and taking a vote if it should go to trial. I think there’s one such case left to hear the final charges (I’ll have to check my notes again to be sure.) Some cases are not surprising because of the crime trends of the past decades, but some have been sad and some had disturbing layers of circumstances and the points of view of multiple witnesses and evidence on exhibit for us to consider. There have been days in which I felt “punch drunk” coming out of there. It’s A LOT. Thankfully, I’ve been surrounded by people who have been kind and we 23 have all gotten along fine. I’ll be glad when its over so I can calibrate my brain back to something resembling a normal routine, it really has been hard on me mentally and physically. Sitting for long periods of time has set me back a bit, I’m not used to sitting still.

I’m still “getting used to” wee Elizabeth not being here…I even have the occasional panic that I forgot to feed her…I’ve only gone in the barn threes times since she passed. The imprint in the bedding where she took her last breaths is still there. I haven’t finished cleaning out her things from the barn…keeping on top of weeding in the garden and mowing where the riding mower can’t get to has been a priority. (Weeding is very good therapy after coming home from listening to cases, especially the ones that are unthinkable.)

Photos of my wee donkey keep coming up in my media feeds as daily reminders that she was once there. I miss her very much.

One of the photos that came up this week…a sweet snoodle bun “Boop!” It would startle her when I gave her a “smooch!” She’d get the most surprised expression whenever the opportunity to plant a kiss on her snoodle bun presented itself. (It is a very sensitive area for equines, lots of sensory stuff happening.)

Life goes on…

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

I created a keepsake box to hold mementos of my wee donkey, Elizabeth. I found this old box on a table at the Delevan building where we used to exhibit in a gallery on the first floor many years ago. Some of the artists were cleaning out their studios and set “free to a good home” things out in the hallway, so I picked through the treasures and thought this would be good for something someday…so here it is…sort of a reliquary. Her two little hoof clippings are just nips from the toes of her back hooves, the two larger ones are from her front hooves, the one on the lower right shows a pressure bruise from the coffin bone (from her last farrier visit). In the lower left, there is her tooth, it came loose during her first dental visit when we had her teeth floated for the first time after we got her in August 2013. Her previous owners probably never had her teeth done as she had a severe wave pattern that probably made it challenging for her to eat. It took years of work to correct it. She still had most of her teeth at the age of 34 which is rare. I can’t find the second tooth, it’s likely in the last place I will look. Then there’s a clipping of her tail hairs that I collected after she passed. These little organic relics are going into the oval wooden band box, the painted lid might be something my mom made (I’m not sure, she made a lot of things). Then there’s the old glass spice bottle that was once part of my mother’s spice shelf when I was a little girl. I filled it with some of Elizabeth’s ashes (I probably should seal it with wax so it isn’t accidentally opened and spilled...). I printed the last photo I took of us on the day she passed and put it in the lid frame where I assume mirror might have been at one time. I had a devil of a time printing it, my printer was being a royal pain in the ass yesterday. I was so frustrated, I had to walk away from it, so I did some weeding for a couple of hours in the garden. I came back inside and finally got it to work. (Sometimes, I’m technologically challenged and need time to work it out.) There are more photos I want to print, but I’ll create a “contact sheet” style page on a full size photo paper (rather than the 4 x 6 that seemed to baffle my printer so much) so I can cut them down to fit inside the lid. That will be another thing for another rainy day!

I was selected for Grand Jury so I’m going to be busy from now until July 8th. It’s fine. Interesting, but nothing too surprising (not yet), but then again, nothing really surprises me anymore.

There are times like this that I wish time would slow down so I can process the loss of my sweet wee donkey. Life flows forward right when you need to be still, it was the same way when my parents passed away…life pushed me forward, it doesn’t wait around for you to finish processing what just happened to you—its a shock to your system to go through profound loss. To find the jury duty summons in my mailbox the day after wee Elizabeth passed was a kick in the head. The timing.

My annual visit to Lake Ontario on my birthday, May 9th, was lovely as always, the lake continues to be a source of inspiration, it was very calm waters that day…I felt at peace, I could’ve sat all day looking at everything there.

Golden Tempo once again wins! I know many complained that the trainer and owners decided against racing him in the Preakness Stakes after he won the Kentucky Derby, which means no Triple Crown, but I agreed with them to give him a rest. It was the responsible thing to do, a two week turnaround between races is not enough, they put the horse ahead of expectations. He ran a big race at the Derby and needed the time off, to recover, and to grow. He’s only three years old and still growing, and I noticed a change in him at the Belmont, he’s grown mentally and physically since the Derby, and he can only get better with age. I took note that when he had the other horse coming up on his right, even with blinkers on, he turned his head to look, and then he kicked into another gear, digging in and springing forward for the win…he’s very competitive. He’s got a good jockey guiding him, and they have a trust between them, they’re a good team. He’s run two great races and proved himself to be the better horse in both races.

The greatest of them all, Secretariat…a horse in Golden Tempo’s pedigree through his mother, Carrumba (fifth generation). His historic Belmont/Triple Crown win in 1973 is breathtaking, he was all alone crossing the finish line in a record time of 2:24, Ron Turcotte looking over his shoulder, he heard no one behind them…

I do have a couple of poe-umms in progress, I will continue to work on them for another day. I’m still reading through my manuscript of Drinking From the Fishbowl, I’ll get back to a new writing rhythm once I get used to going to jury duty…I’m feeling thrown “off track” creatively, but it’s coming back. I have three full days of service ahead of me, we’ll see where I’m at by the end of the week. I was exhausted after two mornings, I fear full days will be challenging...

Life goes on…

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

This morning, shortly after 9 AM, I had to make the hard decision for my wee Elizabeth. She took a turn for the worse overnight, her quality of life was slipping away, there was no more time left to "wait and see", the pain meds were no longer working. She went outside early this morning with the sunrise. She came back inside when the clouds rolled in and took the sunshine away. She then stood near the barn door with her face to the wall, lifting her front feet, showing me how painful they were. She was in so much pain there was nothing left to do. She didn't move from that spot until the vet arrived. I led her to where the vet could examine her, we were all on the same page. She was a very good girl and very brave, I laid down with her and held her until her final breath. I gave her all my love and everything she needed. At 34 years old, almost 35 on July 7th, she lived a good long life. She went peacefully, the best wee donkey. I'm going to miss her so, so much.

Oh, my heart.

It’s Monday, April 13th and I’ve been a bit preoccupied for a spell—it’s mostly stress and distractions—one distraction is a happy one—Most of my time from 4/1-4/10 was spent watching and listening to the crew of the Orion spacecraft and Houston, chatting about features of the lunar surface as they reached the moon and began their tour of the dark side.

Witnessing NASA’s return to the moon with Artemis II with four astronauts taking a ride to the moon for the first time since I was 10 years old—little me who was so excited about the Apollo missions, would cry when watching the rockets blast off. My imagination lit up so much that I would “build” my spaceship underneath the ping-pong table in the basement. I would hang posters of the Solar System and the Moon on my makeshift walls, and fly to wherever my heart’s desire was that day using odds and ends and cardboard for control panels and whatnot. Eventually, my daddy would dismantle my spaceship when he needed the boards that I borrowed for my patchwork hull. Then, later, the Space Shuttle missions…I loved it that we were doing all of this travel to space, the science was real, it wasn’t just Star Trek on TV.

Artemis II completed the mission, and the astronauts aboard the Orion, Integrity capsule have returned home safely after their very awesome journey. It’s been a bright spot in a very unsettled time.

Each astronaut has made statements about their journey around the moon, but my favorite is Christina Koch’s statement. In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the link to that video. I love it when she stops talking, drops her head down, puts her hand on her hip, and says “Oh-oh,” her emotions are very evident at that moment:

I’ve been so visually inspired by this whole event, it’s been magical.

The spring migration of birds has been ongoing since the first Red-Wing Blackbirds arrived during the stormy weeks in March along with Grackles and Brown-headed Cow Birds, and of course, the European Starlings that did not winter over with us. There have been several new arrivals these last couple of weeks, the Eastern Phoebe, Carolina Wren, Cedar Waxwing, Northern Flicker, Tree Swallow, Pine Warbler, Eastern Towhee, Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, are birds that I haven’t heard since last Fall sent them to warmer climates. It amazes me that Robins and the Eastern Bluebirds continue to stick around through the winter, and this past winter was bad.

On Friday evening, I was watching a small flock of dark-eyed juncos flitting around the yard and pine trees. One bird was mostly white with black on the wings and maybe the tail. I didn’t get a good look, as it was too far off to see for sure. The little bird seemed very skittish and never landed for very long, and its skittishness kept its companions fluttery, too. I realized that this flock isn’t my regular flock that spends the winter with us, (some of them do stay through the summer, but it’s a small core family). I suspect this flock were just passing through and looking for a place to settle for the night. I haven’t seen the white bird at the feeder since then. I imagine they moved on to find accommodations that weren’t already occupied or to keep going. On occasion, some Juncos are born with the Leucistic mutation, and I was glad to find this website with a good image of the bird I saw:

Luecistic Junco

Of course, Tedward and Henry are totally fascinated with Juncos since I told them about what I saw. There are more birds on the way, I look forward to hearing the Baltimore Orioles just in time for the Kentucky Derby.

My spring flowers have been slow to bloom this year, and I’ve been moving slow with garden clean up, mostly because the weather here has been very rainy, stubbornly cold, even a 60 degree day will carry a windchill that makes it less enjoyable because of the blustery wind. It’s been a very windy year so far. Every time I get down to flower level to photograph them, the photos are blurred because the wind will gust just as I click the shutter. It’s irritating. I do have Squill, Sweet Violets, Colts Foot, and Forsythia blooming so far! The daffodils are working on opening up, and the corcuses were destroyed within a day or two day of blooming by wind, snow, and rain. (A flower post will come.)

My Fred built the work bench inside my garden shed this past week!

I’m so excited! There’s still a stool and shelving to be made, a pegboard and large tool hooks to be installed before I can move in completely. I do want to shop for a largish flat stone or a series of smaller flats for my rocking chair corner and a small coffee table that will be to the right side. There will be shelving in the left corner. I don’t really want to stuff it with a lot of crap…seriously, I don’t. I imagine it might get cluttered when I’m in the thick of things, but this first year will be an education on what I will need in the future for storage, and what I should be storing in there.

My wee donkey has barely set foot outside through the winter, and I think she forgot that “outside” existed because there were so many days that I kept the door closed because of the bitter cold and storms we had this winter. Every time she looked outside, she’d see the sunshine, but then the snow and she’d say “Nope.” Turn around and go back inside. I worried that she wasn’t getting enough exercise, and I was correct. She has had a mild case of chronic, winter laminitis, but with help from the vet and farrier, we have her on Banamine to help with any pain she’s dealing with, and regular trims to balance her hooves. I have worried about her for weeks. (Her next farrier appointment is April 24th). I’ve had a few friends have their equines going through the same thing, and one poor boy had to be put down a few weeks ago, and I feel so sad for them to lose their sweet boy. Trust me, I had feared the worst since mid February when the weather was so relentless, bitter cold, with no end in sight. Then March was so up and down, Elizabeth’s body barometer was on a rollercoaster ride. She would be shifting on her front hooves on a stormy day, clearly in pain. Then the next day, walking perfectly fine with the sunshine. It was so unpredictable. I never knew from one day to the next what I was going to find when I walked into the barn at 5AM. Was I going to have a bright-eyed, perky eared donkey, or a tense, head-shy little girl who kept her head low, doing a slow shuffling walk to her food bowl. On those mornings, I would worry “This is the day I’ll be making that call.” But it wasn’t, or hasn’t been, yet. She never lost her appetite! I swear that donkey would walk through hot coals and a bed of nails for a cookie and a cuddle.

Here’s my muddy girl! She has gone outside to roll every day (at least twice a day) since things finally warmed up to her taste. Her hind legs and back do have signs of muscle wasting, which is part of her having Cushing’s disease, but her getting more exercise is helping with that, she’s steadier on her tiny pins! (* Note: I have her front fetlocks taped to prevent her from scraping herself with her hooves when she gets up from lying down. She’s had a couple of bad scrapes that needed attending to this winter. I am hoping once she has gotten stronger, I will be able to take them off.)

It’s been a long winter, and I feel somewhat “punch drunk” from it. I haven’t done much writing, I haven’t gone back to my novel since mid January, I haven’t continued with the artwork in progress projects except for my nightly sketches…2026 has been rough on my creativity. I have been busy spring cleaning, clearing out a closet full of clothes, sorting through what to keep, what to give away, and what to put out on consignment. (I have Blue Fish dresses that I’ll never wear again, they’re beautiful, hand-printed designs and stuff that I wore to gallery openings and at work. Blue Fish is out of business now…so…no more of that pretty stuff.)

I’ve also been sorting through boxes of photographs that came from my parents house and boxes of my photos from trips to the Adirondacks, and family pictures from Christmas and birthdays, baby pictures of our son, pet pictures, and the photos that I had kept in my office…oy. Lots of pictures. I’m tossing out duplicates, I don’t need to keep them, unless they’re really special images.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Every day that goes by with
most of the world still
in one piece is a good day.
It isn’t perfect.
There are wars going on—
the scattered death and destruction,
refugees looking for a safe place,
and some that stay behind
because they have nowhere to go,
or they stay to fight for a better life.
Terrorists lurking in our midst
looking to do harm.
People are killing one another over this
or some other, you name it—
fill in the blank with the reason why,
there are many. Too many.
Natural disasters and other shit happening
because of greed, neglect, and ignorance.
Elections for world leaders
who may or may not be
good for their country—societies 
divided by ideology.
No compromise.
My way or the highway rhetoric.
Talking points to a future of more 
of the same shit, different administration.
There are always dictators out there
doing their own thing. There’s always 
that guy who likes to thumb his nose at 
the rest of the world, making threats.
Today, sunny and warm with a chance of the world ending.

I posted this poe-umm on Substack on October 10, 2023, and on Wordpress 4/2/2017…it’s back, still speaking to the uncertainty of the day-to-day what the fuck. It’s exhausting…the winter of our discontent continues even with the sun shining.

It’s Monday morning, I have Nirvana playing…loud. (Yeah, by the Boomer Gen parameters, I fall in there, but no doubt about it, I am a GenX in spirit!)

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

The color palette is familiar — ochre, gray, brown. 
It’s too early for green. Tho’ the
evergreens are green as ever.
Andrew Wyeth had a hand in painting 
these March fields and hills — the overcast sky.
The sun plays peek-a-boo through the clouds. 
A male robin sings a joyful song to the sly rays of light. 
Where is Christina? 
I expect to see her,
earthbound — her pink dress 
a beacon amidst tawny grasses 
as she pauses in her homeward crawl.
I always admired Christina’s determination 
to get where she was going. 
My childhood hero. 
If she could go, she wouldn’t, but because 
she was told she couldn’t—she would.
Her solitary figure inspired my early Spring rambles 
seeking the first signs of emerging life. 
I learned to look — to see everything. 
A tree-fringed hilltop, the deer suddenly 
become visible as they wave distant whitetails. 
Blackbirds flock and fuss, swirling into bare branches 
laden with tight buds waiting to release a new season.
A Nor’easter’s remains cling to the shadows of the 
indomitable trees, all lush with sap, stand poised 
to bend with the seasonable winds. Last Autumn’s 
remnants, a fragrant, damp patchwork quilt.
March came in like a lion, as usual. 
The lamb waits, snuggled beside its mother. 
The Vernal Equinox is a few days away.

Yes, I do believe that the wee spring lamb is tightly snuggled beside its mother…it is not a gentle first day of spring. It started with a pink sunrise, some early sunshine, but the clouds rolled in from the west, and the windblown rain just started spitting on my windows. Not even a crocus or a sweet violet to be seen this year—not yet—but they will come soon. It’s been a tough winter, very long, very cold, lots of snow. We do have some patches of snow from the last 3-4 inches we received this week, scattered here and there; they’ll be gone later today after the rain washes it away. During our false spring a couple of weeks ago, it was a warm and sunny day. I had a wee honey bee come sniff my garden apron because it had sunflowers and blue paint spatters on it. She was hoping for some pollen, but sorry, no. She flew away. I do hope her hive has honey left, poor thing, woke up and took flight for nothing. I don’t even have a crocus or a tough sweet violet blooming yet. Maybe she flew to a lower altitude and found what she needed.

This poe-umm always reminds me of springtime’s past…my rambles around the woods and fields near my house, and finding a nice spot to sit and be quiet, soaking up the early spring sunshine and wind. The gray tree trunks in the woods, the tawny grasses in the fields…the changing sky, the blue and the gray changing places.

I’ve been spring cleaning around the house lately. I’m sorting through old clothes, packing some to donate or to a local consignment shop…whatever works. Dusting off bookshelves, organizing books, removing ones that we’re going to put into a local library book sale, or see if the bookstore in the next town will take these gently used books.

I captured a video of my wee Elizabeth playing with her treat ball. She was so focused on it, she did not hear me come into the barn, so I was able to spy on her through the gap in the door…she’s so good at spinning the ball. She didn’t get a cookie while filming, but it was almost empty when I checked the ball later. I am glad she’s feeling good. I’m happy to report that my wee donkey had a good farrier visit last week, and there is no sign of laminitis as we had feared during the last trim visit. She still has soreness, but this is likely from her supporting the weaker hind legs as she has developed significant muscle wasting in her hips and back, which is a typical symptom of advanced Cushing’s disease in donkeys and horses. This winter was very hard on her. It’s my hope that once spring settles in and temperatures become more stable, she will feel more inclined to get outside for more exercise. My goal is to keep her comfortable for as long as she’s willing, and to keep her diet consistent, which helps to maintain her metabolic system.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I want to say hello to all my subscribers and followers and welcome all new visitors, subscribers, and followers; it’s so awesome that you’re here! I especially want to thank my subscribers (paid and free); I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a lot to me. I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special. I’m happy to share the journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. Your subscription supports independent writers, poets, artists, and photographers like me. Remember to be good to yourselves and be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through.

Sketching every night before bed is a practice I began during the COVID pandemic to help me put my mind at ease. It started with creating a series of 19 drawings. I begin every sketch by making random marks, then slowly follow them each night, photographing my progress and posting them on social media to show my friends and family what I am doing to help me cope with the stress of being confined and working from home. Once I finished the COVID-19 Project, I decided to keep going. I looked for sketchbooks in the studio and found several with blank pages to fill, so I went ahead and began filling them with similar sketches. I did this every night to stop doomscrolling, burn off mental energy, and shut down my brain.

It’s a silent, physical mantra that helped me to relax enough to go to sleep. It’s been 6 years since the pandemic, and I’m still doing this.

They are quick, a few minutes, 5 or 10 minutes, sometimes I’ll take a little longer and linger over marks that draw me in to refine the lines, but typically, they are abstractions, the circle is the anchor.

Sometimes the marks make a tree-like shape, so I go with it, as I do love the shapes of trees.

On February 12^th, I started my 28^th Sketchbook.

One thing I’ve been asked about the sketches is, “Will you ever stop doing them every night?” The simple answer is this: If I weren’t happy doing the sketches, I wouldn’t do them.

If anything, I’m very deliberate and/or determined when it comes to art making. I won’t rule out that I might decide to dial it back someday, or change it up to do something else, like switch to another medium, like watercolor, ink, crayons, or mixed media. (I do have other sketchbooks that are ongoing works in progress.) I’m a creature of routine, and I have a hard time breaking from something ingrained in my day-to-day because it throws me off-kilter to skip a step. Routines are very comforting. I don’t go into it with anything like “Ugh, I still gotta do this before I go to bed…” I don’t want to feel stressed going into it—it’s bedtime, I’m winding down after a long, busy day, and this is a special time for me. Yes, the blank page can be intimidating as I wonder about coming up with something different, what pencil should I use, and where to make the first mark…if it’s not going well, should I erase it all and start over (done that! It makes great texture under new marks).

I’ve been asked about the circles in my nightly sketches; the circle appears in nearly all of them. It is how I finish the sketch; it’s the final mark I make, like a period at the end of a sentence. I carefully choose the size from the various plastic templates I have, or from whatever mark-making circle item I have in my collection, such as the cardboard, packing tape inner tubes, or container lids. Then I consider the placement on the page: is there a special spot in the sketch that I want to isolate to “frame,” as if creating a portal? The circles are open to interpretation, as there are many personal and cultural factors to consider. Circles are primal. Circles are sacred. Circles are peace. Circles are celestial; our planet, Earth, is revolving on its axis in space, the moon is orbiting Earth, and Earth and the moon are orbiting the sun. The circle can be the calm in the storm of marks, a focal point for the viewer to rest their eyes. It has also been considered my self-portrait of sorts—I am here.

I always take my time picking out a title for each sketch—I will never leave a sketch without a name.

My wee donkey is a good girl; she’s still feeling foot sore at times (it seems the weather is a direct influence on her well-being, if I’m feeling it, she’s feeling it). I’m seeing some improvement now that the weather is nicer, the snow has melted away, and she finally went outside on Sunday afternoon to sun herself in her favorite spot in the paddock. But I didn’t see this happen. I found her hoof prints out there, so I have evidence of the event…believe me, it’s a relief that she felt compelled to go outside; it’s been weeks since she set hoof out the door without my leading her out there, turning her loose, only to have her decide, “NOPE!” turn around and go back inside. She hates snow that much.

The farrier is coming on Friday to do a fresh trim, and I’m anxious about that visit, to see if she sees something I’m not seeing...

Harper Lee and I spent some time in the Wisdom Tree yesterday afternoon, it was chilly but nice, sunny, a wee bit breezy. I’ve been brushing out the dreadlocks from her mane, she was very patient, but has her limits, so she left to go sit at a distance, but still close.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Good lord willing and the creek don’t rise—
Does everyone go around whispering, 
“What the fuck?” 
Or is it just me?
How come?
Well, because
Everything has gone higgledy-piggledy. 
It’s exhausting to process.
What will happen next?
I can never remember to write
“Today will be my peaceful day.”
Oh well…I have the best intentions 
to seek peace within.					
One of my cats suddenly hissed, 
another kitty growled in reply—I
call out, “Language, kitties, language!”
Jeez Christmas trees,
I oughta talk, right?
What the thunder said—like a prayer
Over the Waste Land.
Will it be sunny or cloudy?
Bitter cold, full snow moon night. 
Anticipation—peace
Precious things 
Hope is a sorta fairytale
Like paper planes
Soaring to nowhere,
Dreaming—beguiled 
by everything when allowed
To be free of worries.
Good lord willing and the creek don’t rise—

There are so many influences in this poe-umm, it’s not funny… or maybe it is…I try to keep things light when the darkness is feeling heavy. I wanted to post this in my usual Monday post last week, but I sat on it a bit longer to think…I’ve had a lot on my plate lately, so I needed to clear some brain space first before I figured out what, when, where, how, and why…how come? I made the recording and figured if things changed, I’d just do a new recording. I started to add things to it yesterday, but then decided against it. The new things are a start to a new poe-umm, maybe...

Let me tell you the story about this poe-umm…

The first and last line, “Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise,” is a common phrase often expressed during moments of uncertainty…I knew a fellow who worked as a plumber for the institution where I used to be employed. He often came around to address our plumbing problems at the museum (it was usually me calling about a leak because I was the first person to arrive in the morning and would discover all the lovely problems that could occur— “On this day’s episode of This Old Art Museum.” (You must understand that I had to have a sense of humor every day—it was self-preservation at its finest.) He was a good sort and a heck of a storyteller, some of which had to do with the nuns at his school who would rap his knuckles with a ruler. He very often said after completing a job, “Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise.” Throughout my years of employment, I always made it a practice to appreciate the workers who came to fix our shit at the museum because, as the daughter of an appliance repairman, I knew they didn’t have an easy job, especially considering our space filled with priceless artwork, and most of the facility suffering from antiquated infrastructure spanning decades from early 1900s, 1950s, 1970s, 1980s…all very problematic. Anyway…the plumber, his infamous parting words. Then, I was recently reminded of the words while playing the Tori Amos playlist, which includes the song Up the Creek…in which the phrase: “Good Lord willing and the creek don’t rise” starts the song and repeats throughout like a chant…and thus, this phrase bounced through my head for days, weeks…Then I wrote it down and began to pull words and phrases from my head, other words and phrases that have stuck with me recently, things I’ve read, songs I’ve heard, the weather...just about anything I’ve “soaked up” with my sponge brain since early February.

Whispering “What the Fuck?” to oneself is something mentioned a lot in memes and in general conversation…seriously, yeah, what the fuck? There are days I feel punch-drunk by the news.

Now, let’s discuss higgledy-piggledy…Honestly, I always wanted to use that fun word combo in a poe-umm someday, why not this one? (If I haven’t yet, I have now. If I have used it before, I’m happy to use it again!) It’s a more light-hearted way to say “Shit is fucked up and stuff.”

I’m trying to be anti-inflammatory…But, you know, I would love it more if nothing gave me a reason to cuss so dang much…ya dig?

I’ve been really stressed lately, and naturally, it’s had a negative impact on my creativity. I do push through some days…Sometimes I zone out on Insta, watching videos of puppies and kittens, wee donkeys and ponies… and while the Walk for Peace was going on, I was obsessed with the persistent monks in their saffron robes, their sweet dog, Aloka, and their trek through the South. Their presence on the internet was a delightful, positive force (you know the cute doggy was the reason news services were grabbing this story... everybody loves a good dog story! I’m not wrong!) The monks offered sage advice not just on peace in the world, but also on the importance of inner peace. Seeing so many people lining the streets to see them, so emotional. So many people hurting, longing for peace. I already know this stuff, but lately, it’s been very hard to hang on to it. It was suggested to write down this phrase every day: “Today is going to be my peaceful day”… However, my including it in the poe-umm as “Today will be my peaceful day” is more demanding in tone, I suppose…and might, at times of stress, be followed by a resounding “…damn it!”

Do I feel peaceful…? Sometimes. There’s always something poking me like a sliver in my foot. Every shift of the weather causes me physical pain, most of which I power through without giving it much thought, as it’s ingrained how to manage it out of habit. (I take no medication for my chronic pain.) I get up every morning, put my feet on the floor, and address what hurts with a dose of “Yeah, whatever, fuck it...”

The cats, oh the kitties! My cats are mostly peaceful sweeties (such angels while sleeping), but on occasion there are disagreements when they are awake and jockeying for position at mealtime or sleeping places… if it isn’t the two old boys, Butters and Monster, having their alpha male bullshit, it’s the two girls, Sooty and Persephone, squabbling about something, or it’s one of the girls getting pissed at little Schmoo for being a pest. They love playing with the little guy, but when they’re ready to go down for a nap, he doesn’t know when to quit…so, it can get snotty, and I have to go in with my long pole duster “Marge” and break it up.

The phrase Jeez Christmas trees is an exclamation I say to “clean up” my foul mouth, and I used it multiple times in my novel Drinking from the Fishbowl (which I’m still taking a break from before attempting to publish it again)

What the Thunder Said is a section in T. S. Eliot’s poem The Waste Land, which I have been re-reading again. It seems appropriate.

Mention of the full snow moon marks the time when I first started thinking about possibly writing this poe-umm, my brain was very noisy about it…the full moon is very inspiring.

Anticipation is, without a doubt, Carly Simon’s song, which happened to be playing on a playlist that I made of old songs, and it spends time in my brain jukebox without having anything to do with ketchup.

Precious Things and A Sorta Fairytale are both Tori Amos song references… music really influences me almost every day; when I’m feeling out of sorts, listening to music helps me focus my mind. Making art, when I cook dinner, before I retired from the day job, music kept me on track. I have a very busy brain, too much going on in there, too many doors and corners, windows and gaps to look through…distractions.

Paper Planes, M.I.A. inspired…considering the immigration issues of our present time…it’s an old song, released in 2008, a satire of the American perception of immigrants from war-torn countries.

Beguiled by everything is a gift from Patti Smith; her book Bread of Angels has been a delight to read (I’ve had it read to me via Audible). I remember those all too brief moments when I’ve gotten lost in daydreams or soaking up a place, a time, a feeling without distraction…or worries.

So that’s the breakdown of this poe-umm’s tangle of inspirations, some related, some totally random…

It was a very cold morning, but slowly the day is warming up—it was 6 degrees at 5 AM—honestly, this winter. But…we’ll be in the 50s by Friday, wonky weather, making my donkey wonky. I’m still doctoring my wee donkey and her sore hooves; she has good days when the weather is consistent. When the weather is wildly changing, she is clearly hurting, but holding her own. Donkeys are very stoic by nature, so they mask their pain, which makes it hard to judge how she’s feeling, but I look into those big brown baby eyes, and I know she’s not done yet. She’s not lethargic; she’s up, walking, eating well, and doing as she pleases. If she were lying around, unable to get up or stay up if she were helped up, or not eating, I would never let her suffer. The next farrier visit is on the 13th, so I’ll get the verdict from her on how the tiny hooves are doing. I’m cautiously optimistic, if she gets outside once the snow melts away, I know she will not be able to resist going outside, the exercise will help her hindlegs get stronger.

The sun is shining, and it’s a beautiful winter day.

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

Who hasn’t heard the catcall while walking from 
point “A” to point “B.”

Unexpected.

That time when you were fourteen years old, 
you were feeling pretty in a brand-new sundress. 
It was a hot summer night, walking home from 
your friend’s house—you were only 
two blocks away from your own front door 
when suddenly, you became aware that 
the same car that had been slowly driving by 
your friend’s house was following you. 
When you looked at the car 
as it came to a stop at the corner, 
the man inside was smiling at you—
he had his dick in his hand like he was giving you a present. 
You ran all the way home.

Unexpected.

That time at the Friday night school dance, 
When a boy asked you to dance with him,
You received a kiss that was more 
than just a kiss—you gagged and 
pushed him away, disgusted.
Then, on Monday, he complained 
because you failed to reciprocate.
He called you a whore—a tease.
Everyone in school knew about it.
You never liked him anyway.

Unexpected.

That time at the bar 
when a hand groped your flesh.
Tits, ass, pussy, doesn’t matter what he touched. 
Yours. Private.
Kidding! 
He said with a laugh.
He stopped laughing after 
you slapped him.

Unexpected. 

Yet—Not surprised.
That time you told your mother 
about the latest indignity. 
“Dressed like that, you were asking for it.”
Yep, that’s what she said.
“No, Mom—I was just minding my own business.” 
You replied, annoyed, yet guilty. 
Ashamed that your body betrayed you. 

Huh. 

Unexpected.						

That time you were feeling prettier 
because someone noticed you.
He seemed charming—he made you laugh. 
Both of you were giddy—
You had so much in common—
All was going so nice—
at least until—
he wasn’t that funny. 

Unexpected.

That time, on a very hot summer day, 
you went inside the church to cool off. 
It was so quiet. No one was around.
Then, someone sat behind you. 
A man’s hand hung over the back of the pew, 
and with a lazy flick of his wrist, 
he touched your shoulder. He said, 
“Hey, baby, do you need a place to live?”
You screamed. 

Unexpected.

Who hasn’t heard the wolf-whistle 
while walking from point “A” to point “B.”

Unexpected.

The poe-umm Unexpected was originally inspired by the #MeToo movement of 2016. Still, currently, there is the murder of Renee Good, and the murderer called her a “Fucking Bitch” after he shot her. The Epstein Files are coming to light in a sloppy, semi-redacted way—a fucked-up-cover-up that is looking worse than Watergate ever dreamed of being. The sexual harassment and abuse of girls and women is an issue that will never go away—it’s behavior so embedded in human social structure—no matter how far we’ve come, no matter how enlightened we think we are—there will be those lingering elements of belief, thought patterns, ideology, power, whatever you want to call it—women—especially the most vulnerable, young girls and children—will always be targets for harassment, cruelty, assault, abuse, and even death.

Unexpected has evolved from a scrappy poe-umm written in 2016 (TEN YEARS AGO!) to become a mixed-media artwork with scrappy paper dolls posing in a row—hands linked, like in kindergarten, for protection, so not to become separated from the rest. Then they come to life as they feel their dismay over how boys and men have treated them. Their hands on their hips, their indignant paper middle fingers emerging to flip the bird, and then their hands once again linked—in solidarity.

The art project has taken over a year to complete. The first step was choosing colors (black and white with shades of gray would’ve been so easy). I decided only pink and blue would do—even though I figured they’d be controversial color choices—I couldn’t shy away from those colors because of their symbolism. The traditional baby colors that I grew up with in my lifetime: pink is for girls, blue is for boys. Then I had to mix the colors—I would not settle for a color straight from the tube, I wanted them to be my own creation (I love mixing colors, it’s part of the fun of art making). Once I got the colors mixed, I stained the papers that I selected for the project (a lightweight, 100% cotton rag paper, I believe the paper manufacturer is Legion). The paper dolls were stained in their warm pink blend of watercolor, gouache, and acrylic paint; it’s not the ideal baby pink, certainly not Pepto Bismol pink, and I steered clear of Hoola-Hoop neon hot pink. The background is cool blue, slightly darker than baby blue. I sketched the paper dolls and cut them out; I chose spikey pigtails for them, intentionally depicting them as childlike because, deep inside, a woman is still the little girl they once were (personally, I am still 9 years old.) Then I carved linoleum blocks in the paper doll shape, and used them to print rows of the figures in white acrylic paint on the blue-stained background (ghostly in appearance), and I also traced the shape in white ink, like a chalk outline. I wrote cat-calls for each of the six pages in jagged, unruly handwritten letters, having them mesh with the printed and traced paper doll figures.

Each page tells a story; there’s the “chorus line” of pink paper dolls at the bottom of the page. The background is covered with a multitude of printed paper doll ghost images and traced “chalk outlines,” with the written cat-calls serving as the title of each page.

Page 1— Hey-hey, Baby, How’s your love life?

A fourteen-year-old girl walking home from her friend’s house, only two blocks from her front door, she discovers that a man in a car is following her. Without saying a word, he invites her to “go for a ride.” She’s terrified and runs home. The paper dolls begin their silent narrative as linked and passive figures on the first page; they are only paper dolls, doing what is expected of them. As children, they hold hands for protection; they know they are safer together.

Page 2— Hey, Baby! I know your type, you think you’re too good, but you’re not!

There is a break in the line; hands are fists on their hips, disgusted by the lack of empathy for the girl, while the boy spreads the word around that he got to “first base” with her, calls her a whore, and is pissed off that she dared to reject him. In her view, he only asked her to dance with him, that’s all she agreed to—she didn’t agree to be kissed “like that,” he forced the kiss. It’s not like he walked her home or anything. She didn’t even like him.

Page 3— Hey-hey, Baby! Look at me! Hey, Baby, Nice tits! You Married? What’s your number?

The paper dolls continue to express their displeasure at the young woman’s experience of having a guy randomly grab her body without permission, then acting as if he was kidding or it was “an accident”—you know damn well he wasn’t kidding, and it wasn’t an accident—the dude was testing the waters to see if she was “easy.” The central doll is no longer holding hands with her friends; she stands alone, defiant, one hand on her hip, the other flipping the bird. She is flanked by dolls remaining linked together, but displaying their indignation as well.

Page 4— Hey, Baby! I’m talking to you! Don’t ignore me! Fuck you—you’re ugly anyway!

The four paper dolls are two by two, each end flipping the bird in reaction to the mother’s voiced opinion that it was her daughter’s fault because of the way she is dressed—this is a very common accusation that is made to say a woman got what she was asking for by dressing in a way that “attracts attention.”

Page 5— Hey, Sweetheart! Nice ass! Shake it Baby!

All the paper dolls are flipping the bird. (It was on a whim that I made the middle paper doll kneel; she’s triumphantly pissed off.) It’s open-ended what happened to the young woman at the end of the evening with a guy she thought was very nice; it’s implied that it was sexual assault, or maybe she was raped. Whatever happened, happens all too often. It’s a cautionary tale, something that a woman will have to live with for the rest of her life.

Page 6— Hey, Baby! Do you need a place to live? Woooo-weee, such language! Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?

The young woman takes refuge from the heat outside by going into a church to cool off. You’d think this is a place where one should feel safe, only to discover it is not when a man (very likely a pimp) asks her if she needs a place to live…and she screams in response. It is implied by the cat-call in the painting’s background that she cussed him out royally. The paper dolls have returned to their passive positions; they are only paper dolls, doing what is expected of them. They have linked together in solidarity, walking home together is safer than striking out alone...

I’m happy it’s done. It’s been a difficult project at times—I never wanted to give it up, not for a minute—I only wanted it done right. After a lot of experimentation, problem-solving, and struggling with my self-confidence, it came together over the last couple of weeks, and this weekend I finished inking the poe-umm text. I finally found the right type of pen, and I had to work up the courage to do it. Also, thankfully, the painting is done in acrylic paint, so when I flubbed up a few words, I was able to remove them with a damp piece of cotton rag paper, carefully blotting and very lightly scrubbing with a soft paint brush, drying it with a dry piece of cotton rag paper, and rewriting. Easy-peasy, my years of training kicked in, and I got it done. I was scared of my own shadow, I guess.

This project is confrontational (I know, they are just little pink paper dolls!) Yet, I tried to keep it approachable (relatable). The harsh reality that young girls and women face every day. One day, you’re going about minding your own business when someone decides to invade your peace in a way that rattles your core—changes your life—how you feel about yourself—you become another survivor—well, that is, if you survive the encounter. Too many don’t.

Why?

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

It has been very bitter cold and I have been hunkered down, yet still in motion, getting shit done, but not writing much…not like I don’t have something to write about, there’s simply too much to process and whenever I get overwhelmed with “too much”, I turn to more hands on things, like housework, barn chores, and even working in the studio, finishing projects that have been in limbo while I jammed my way through Drinking from the Fishbowl (which is on pause for the moment, I needed time off from it before I follow up on the notes I’ve made since I finished this last time through).

One thing accomplished, I bought this awesome archival box to store my larger artworks from the last two years, like the Childless Cat Ladies…

The box came from Talas in Brooklyn. They are an awesome archival storage and bookbinding supply place; I highly recommend them. I’m so happy they had this big ass archival box, so I didn’t have to build one myself (which I am very capable of doing). Thankfully, I don’t create many large artworks, as I have to be mindful of my limited storage space. My studio is “a little” cluttered. It’s an all-purpose room, I paint here, draw here, write here, store artwork here, sit and browse through books on the shelves, sometimes settle in to read, and sometimes I’ll have a good cry in here…for whatever reason—it is all-purpose room, after all.

One thing I meant to post way back on January 16th, but I kept getting tripped up by whatever was troubling me at the time, and needed to step back and just “be.” I made this recording on January 15th…

Text of recording:

One night, I had a dream… it was one of those very brief ones, when I drifted off to sleep and woke up soon after, only a few minutes had passed. It was just long enough, deep enough to create a dream…to bump into a brain doorway and have a look inside. I sat down on our couch with all of my favorite plushies gathered there, and I asked them a question: “Could you please hold on to a few years of my life so if I need them later, you could give them back to me?”

They said “Yes!” before I woke up. I saw their sweet faces looking up at me, so joyful to accept my treasure of time, and to keep it safe for me until I need it back later.

So…that’s it…this odd little dream. My knee-jerk reaction to this dream after waking up was “I have no idea where that came from!” (I rarely remember dreams, but this one stuck with me). I do know—connecting the dots is a webby mess—Dreams are so strange. In the morning, I felt compelled to sit down with the plushies to study them and think about the dream, the request I made, and to hug Distinguished, especially because that was what he was made for...hugging.

Our lives are so precious…

Some days, I’m feeling the passage of time too keenly, and I want to maintain a quality of life that is good and full—but there is so much happening that steals time away faster than I can live it. Asking these plushies to hold on to a few years of my time to keep it safe until I need it later is a big ask. I do trust them to do it.

Another thing that has kept me preoccupied is my wee donkey, Elizabeth. With the up-and-down weather and the bitter cold, she hasn’t gone outside to enjoy the paddock for several weeks. Exercise is very important for a wee donkey with Cushing’s Disease, and I have been very concerned about her hooves and the potential for Winter Laminitis, which is often caused by the lack of exercise. The Farrier came on 1/16 for a regularly scheduled trim, and I told her I had noticed a change in my wee girl’s posture that morning; she’s tucking her hind legs more under her than usual and seemed a little unsteady at times. The farrier knew what I was talking about right away, just seeing the wee girl’s posture. From her tone of voice, I’m sure she feared the worst. (So did I). She has seen a lot of laminitis and abscesses this winter. This change happened suddenly with the latest drop in temperature, which went from the 40s to the teens and single digits in less than 6 hours. The good news is that her tiny hooves show no signs of an advanced issue: no heat, no elevated pulse, no bruising, and no separation between the hoof wall and the white line, but she is very sore. The farrier did a corrective trim to take the pressure off the toe of the hooves and put her back on her heels. I spread a deeper bed of wood shavings and chopped straw in her stall and on the barn floor to make her more comfortable. I called the vet right away to alert her of this development. The vet prescribed Banamine to help keep her comfortable, and so far, it’s helping her quite a bit. It keeps her moving around, which is good for healthy blood flow in her hooves. I’m hoping that the “warmer” weather for the next few days will help her feel better; this bitter cold has been very tiring for everyone. Even though she’s blanketed and she “tests positive for toasty,” she still feels it in other ways, and some of it is mental, similar to cabin fever. One thing I’m becoming even more concerned about is that her hindquarters are weaker than they were before last summer. Advanced Cushing’s Disease causes muscle wasting/atrophy, especially in the back, hips, and hind legs. Even though the Banamine is taking care of her pain, the muscle wasting is likely to remain a long term issue, which in turn is putting pressure on her front legs and could lead to laminitis.

I am worried, yet cautiously optimistic.

Despite it all, she’s still herself, still begs for her cookies, still eats well, drinks her water, and goes about the business of being an adorable wee donkey! If anything, she’s very determined to keep going, and I’m determined to keep her going as long as she wishes and her quality of life is good. She’s the best of the good girls!

I am weary and stressed out…but I do enjoy moments of forgetfulness when I’m relaxed and doing more than “making do.”

I hope everyone is well. Be extra good to yourselves, follow your bliss, and find joy. Remember to be kind to others, okay? You never know what someone is going through—and we’re all going through a lot these days.

Thank you for visiting From My Acre of the World. I’m happy to share my creative life journey as I connect the dots between life, art, images, the written word, and my creative process. I want to say “Hello” to all my subscribers, followers, and new visitors. I want to thank my subscribers, both paid and free; I truly appreciate your ongoing support, and it means a great deal to me to have you here. My content is always free because I want to reach people and make my work accessible (you can pay if you want to, but there’s no pressure). I always enjoy hearing from you; your comments are pretty special.

“That’s fine, dude. I’m not mad at you.”
Renee’s sweet face looking up at you, smiling, 
engaging with you—she was doing no harm—
The old dog in the backseat was along for the ride.
In mere seconds, it was all over.
You stalked like a predator, circling their car,
Not engaging with the women. Not a word spoken
to acknowledge them. No reassurance—no indication of intention.
What were your intentions?
“I say go get yourself some lunch, big boy.” Her wife, Becca, said to you.
She said she was a veteran; maybe she has seen that look before.
Maybe she already sensed, “He ain’t right.”
Fight or flight is only a natural instinct, self-preservation.
Renee chose flight in the face of danger. 
She only wanted to leave, 
to get away from the man yelling at her to, 
in his words: “Get out of the fucking car!”
He was reaching through the window to open the car door.
Another one says, “Drive away.” She started to back up.
“Drive, baby, drive!” Becca screamed from the locked passenger side.
Then Renee saw you—
the man in front of the car, pointing a gun at her. 
She made a split-second decision. As she drove forward, 
she turned the wheel to avoid hitting you.
She wanted to go home—
Home, where she would be safe, because
She knew she was no longer safe—
she knew she wouldn’t be safe getting out of the fucking car.
So much can spill through your mind in seconds,
Even the final fractions of seconds as you die.
She probably thought about her child—
She wanted to be there when it was time to pick him up from school.
No one will ever know her final thoughts.
A bullet hole through the windshield, the first shot.
The last two were point-blank through the driver’s side window.
“Fucking bitch,” you said. 
They were the only words you spoke. No remorse.
A muttered curse—a curse spat out by many men at a woman 
who failed to do what he wanted her to do.
A tragedy of her making…so it is said by those who have power—
the ones who weren’t there—the armchair quarterbacks 
making decisions from afar.
She got what she deserved. She had it comin’.
“We had whistles; they had guns,” her wife, Becca, said.
Dude, she said she wasn’t mad at you.
You were not in danger; she was, because of you.
You had the gun pointed at her.
Look at what you’ve done. 
What you did is murder in cold blood.
Are you happy now? Her blood is on your hands,
No matter how hard you try, it will never wash off.
You will have to live with it for the rest of your life.
Are you okay with carrying that guilt? 
Are you proud of yourself? 
You killed that fucking bitch.

Rest in peace, Renee.

May peace be with you, Becca, hold your wee one close, it will be a long time before he will understand why his mommy isn’t coming home.

Over these last few days, I put myself behind the wheel of that car, because that’s how my brain works. I will visit the darkest doors and corners, roads and alleys. I know I’d be dead too—no doubt about it, I’d be dead. I wouldn’t have gotten out of the fucking car—not voluntarily—I would be shot like a rabid dog.

I cannot say with certainty that this too shall pass.

Stay safe, everyone…

*note 1/13/2026, I made a correction in the poe-umm and did a new recording of the poe-uum.