Little Changes

Chin up and Cheerios, to hell with resolutions… it’s time to make some little changes.

I put a work table in my office, still have some boxes stashed in there that need unpacked, but I need to start making art again.

Doc added Welbutrin to my med mix to kill two birds with one stone as that anti-depressant should also help reduce nicotine cravings. I’m not allowed to drink while I’m on that and I still have about three inches left in a pint of Rumple Minze that I stashed back to have something to toast in the New Year, so pills can wait until January.

I’ll be so glad to see the holidays over. Christmas was not a good day for me.

Like, on what planet is it okay to wake up in your girlfriend’s bed on December 25th and not give the woman you supposedly love a present? It doesn’t have to be extravagant or expensive, just some little something that says “hey babe… this reminded me of you… I thought of you…” Hell, it could be a used coffee mug or a 75 cent sherry glass from a thrift shop, one frikkin pencil, or even a wrapped up candy bar. Anything… after all, it is the thought that counts.

If it’s the thought that counts, giving me nothing makes me wonder if I count.

I’ve racked my brain trying to figure it out… stepped back, looked at the bigger picture. There’s some strange dynamics going on… as far as I can tell, I somehow inherited some agreement from his previous relationship, perhaps made in lean times, to focus on children and now that the children are raised, the focus is on grandchildren.  I know he gave money to the mommies to buy gifts for young ones… but he did not exchange gifts with anyone, not even his adult daughters. I am the only one who gave him a gift… wasn’t much, just a scarf, but that’s really kind of messed up.

Yes, the whole Santa thing “is for children” and the holidays are way too commercialized, but damn it… my inner child wants to open a present on Christmas day.

I did not say anything… we did not discuss it, still haven’t… he gives me gifts on other occasions, perfume for my birthday, came in today with a blood pressure monitor that he ordered from a catalog, so I don’t get the Christmas thing.


LATER:  New Year’s Eve was a quiet, sober night at home. He said that he wanted to be asleep before midnight, but ended up picking on me, yakking on his phone, and watching television. He was playful, not mean… but to hell with any fantasy of bringing in the New Year right.

I’m up in the wee hours…  between the “I’m watching that” basketball game and his snoring like a freight train (obviously not watching that) and a few tears on my pillow, I had enough… got up, found my pint, poured a cup of coffee, and started a new drawing. Couple hours later, he’s breathing easy and the TV is off. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.


Here’s the start of the new drawing, quick snap by cell phone. It’s so not done yet… just laid in some colors along an idea of sweeping changes through my life. Thanks for reading.

Dec 28

It is halfway between Christmas and New Years. I find myself avoiding social media because I’m a bit tired of the holiday cheer. Folks are still spreading joyful greetings, sharing sentimental memes, and posting photos of happy family gatherings around decorated trees.

There’s nothing wrong with all that… I just can’t get into it this year. My holiday spirit feels like a sticky marmalade of sweetness slapped onto a thick slab of day old bread, served up with grits of reality and scrambled expectations.

I’ve had Yellow Ledbetter stuck in my head for days. Here’s a version that blends in an old fave…

Maybe it’s time to add an SSRI to the pill mix. Thanks for reading. 

Goldie Garland


I had a little ball of yarn and a hook that did not make it into a box yet, so I’m crocheting a garland of Solomon’s knots, a chain stitch my grandma Goldie taught me when I was just a young girl.

I should be packing like a crazy woman, but oh well… I’m not working on a Sunday. That’s my excuse, or it was, as it is now officially Monday.  I just updated my previous post with a YouTube video so now I have “Blue on Black” stuck in my head.

Amazingly, I have listened to more music this year than I have in ten, thanks to that little Blue Tiger sound pod, a Pandora Radio app on my cell phone, and Spotify on the tablet.


MONDAY: once again, I start a post and finish later.

The lyrics, “Blue on black, tears on a river, push on a shove, it don’t mean much. Joker on jack, match on a fire, cold on ice, a dead man’s touch. Whisper on a scream, doesn’t change a thing, don’t bring you back, blue on black” ring especially true this year.

I have whispered on silent screams and cried tears on rivers of grief.  Too many friends, relatives, former classmates, acquaintances, neighbors, and even my cat have died. It seems like an Angel of Death has been harvesting from my neck of the woods over the last year or so and it is not over yet. Just yesterday, on 9-11, a massive stroke claimed a dear friend’s sister.

The Goldie Garland is appropriate because I’m doing a quiet memorial, blended in, on a Christmas tree this year. That’s what the clay drop ornaments are for… no, I’m not making one per person, I just cut out a bunch… didn’t count them. Bit morbid? Nah… just acknowledging the grief that lingers and infiltrates everything without suffocating anything, if that makes sense. People live and laugh and breathe and die… that’s life. I want to remember those I had the privilege of meeting, of sharing time when our paths crossed, to smile over the memories. I want to celebrate the lives they lived and not get bogged down because they died.

Thanks for reading!