Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Friday, November 14, 2014

"Summer Ending"


acrylic on paper,  12 x 18,  $500

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Friday, October 31, 2014

"Back Door #2"



acrylic on canvas, 12 x 9", $600

(click image to enlarge)

Friday, October 24, 2014

Friday, October 17, 2014

Friday, October 10, 2014

"Blue Spruce"



acrylic on canvas 12/2013
$3600
48 x 30"

Friday, October 3, 2014

You know who you are!



I've found that some people have a need to see you in a bad light.
Even when they are wrong.
They have a NEED and yours isn't to wonder why!

Friday, September 26, 2014

"Seattle House"


acrylic on canvas, 9 x 12", $600

(click on image to enlarge)

Friday, September 19, 2014



My friends ARE strong women.  I won't settle for anything less.
My friends DO NOT tear each other down, period.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Friday, September 5, 2014

"Geraniums"


Acrylic on board, $750.00

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Pretty LOW to steal from an artist!



SOME people will steal from anyone!
The sanctimonious, "generous" ones, 
the liars and cheats, taking, taking, taking
and never giving back.
Those who feel the NEED to tell you
how to feel, think and be,
while they purposefully go about
setting you up so they will look better;
using your most soulful secrets as collateral.
I've had ENOUGH of them
to last a lifetime.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Friday, August 15, 2014

"Kent's Boat"


Acrylic on watercolor paper, 12 x 18", $550.00 ( not framed)

Friday, August 8, 2014

Different Strokes


He had this way of sucking, down there, that happened in a climax before I realized it.  And, it caused an almost instant orgasm without any foreplay, whatsoever.  It made me break out in hysterical laughter, too, at that very “moment”.  A whooping, loud, embarrassing laughter.  It was completely involuntary; tribal and earthy.   I shocked myself!  I couldn't stop it!

Right away there was an immediate body switch, after the fact, so fast, it made my head spin.  

Because then, apparently it was his turn.   No time for me to languish in the moment.  Oh no.  I dutifully went to work but no amount of anything “did the trick”.  

Eventually, I had no more pucker.  I muttered “sorry” and went to sleep.  Or pretended to.

But, I wanted more.  I felt very unappreciated.  At least a little body contact would have been nice, and maybe a hug or kiss.  It was not to be.  I got quick pats on the back and a gentle push away from him when I tried to get intimate by actually touching body to body.  So, that was the end of that!  I could feel the distance.

I felt weird about so many things between us but the fact that it was the same modus operandi, EVERY SINGLE TIME; the hysterical screaming laughter, the ineffectual “payback”, and deep sleep, led me to believe that this was going to be as good as it got. My body ached to be touched so much and what was up with that?? I broke it off with him. 

I saw him at the grocery store several weeks later.  He was as nice as he could be.  He talked about the cost of cereal and I couldn’t look at him.   I shuffled on down the juice aisle.   I felt embarrassed.


About so many things.

"Beloved Cottonwood"



acrylic on watercolor paper, 24 x 18"
commissioned painting (7/14)

Friday, August 1, 2014

On the eve of my birthday, I am alive and well and always hopeful.

Last year was a very good year for me.  I am so very thankful for all my blessings, my friends, my grandchildren and for Zora, my dog, and Alice my cat.

I love where I live and where I am in my life.  My struggle isn't as heavy or as large as in previous years.  I feel at peace and very grateful.

Namasté

Friday, July 25, 2014

Friday, July 18, 2014

MICROCOSM OF THE WORLD



“Are we going to have to go through this again?”, I asked, incredulously.

“I saw you scoop up the poop and throw it on the cacti in the back of the yard, again.  Don’t you know it is killing that cacti; the poop never disintegrates!” Uproarious laughter from evil, skinny neighbor ensued.  He, the ULTIMATE environmentalist with a Prince Valiant haircut.

“And it is going to smell so awful this summer!  Why do you think people use poop bags?  Why do you think we pick up the poop and put it in the trash?  Why don’t you just let me pick up MY dog’s poop and leave it alone!?!”

I was standing about two feet away from him when he suddenly reached out and pointed his bony finger one inch from my nose, and growled, “Because it is in my work space!”, jabbing, pointing right in my face!

In two years, I’d never ever seen him in his “work space”.  We share a backyard, unfortunately. He was referring to the back of the yard where he has hoarded a small pile of wood and broken junk.  Since no one ever went back there I taught my dog to poop in that area  (about 15 feet away from the “pile”) so it wouldn’t bother anyone. 

I buy “compostable” poop bags and they are not cheap.  Two poops (two days) is certainly not bothering anyone and especially when it is in the back of a big yard (fence line).  Even when everything was frozen this winter he was out there throwing poop on the cacti, until I suggested he give it a break, it was WINTERTIME!  I wasn’t going to pick it up daily!  I’ve never known anyone so needing to control and using dog poop as a means to coerce me, push me, force me to pick it up right away or else.

When he jabbed at my face, I instinctively tried to grab his finger, missed and then pointed back at his face saying, “Don’t point at my face, don’t you ever point at my face, you jerk!!  What the hell are you doing?”  I looked right into his eyes.  He actually snarled at me, raising one side of his upper lip.  All this over dog poop.

“I am NOT a jerk!”, he screamed.

“Yeah, you ARE a jerk!”, I screamed back.

“I am not a jerk and your name calling is over the top!”, he said again.  And I started the think the guy was nuts so I walked back to my house about 20 feet away, he screaming, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t talk to jerks OR assholes” I yelled back and slammed my back door.

A few days later he tried to stare me down as I was leaving the driveway.  


All this over dog poop. 

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Friday, July 11, 2014

"Santa Fe Reservoir"






pastel on paper, 17 x 21", 1988, sold

Friday, July 4, 2014

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

QUINOA



I first saw it on Dr. Oz.  He told about the great health benefits of eating Quinoa.  He showed the spelling of it and I jotted it down quickly.  I vowed to go to the co-op and see if they had any.  So chocked full of protein and great for the body, it was an ancient grain revived anew and  I wanted to try it.  I was sure I would love it.

I put only a few items in my grocery cart as I searched for the Quinoa.  I had no idea where it would be located and/or if I could get it in bulk.  I wasn’t really sure what it looked like other than resembling steel cuts oats.  I searched and searched, to no avail.

One of the workers at the co-op saw my bewildered look.  He came over and asked if he could help me.

“Yes”, I said, assured and loud, “Do you have any ‘Quinnoah’?”

He hesitated and politely asked, “Ma’am, did you mean keenwah?”

“Did I SAY ‘keenwah’?  NO!  I said ‘QUINNOAH’”, I rudely retorted.

He apologized and asked me what it looked like and what it was.  I became agitated because they’re supposed to know more than I do!  I don’t work there! I explained that I knew it was an ancient grain and lots of protein, and good for you, but not much more than that.

“Ma’am, that would be ‘keenwah’”, he smiled sweetly and handed me the box with QUINOA written on it.

“You can say ‘keenwah’ and I’ll say ‘Quinnoah’, because that’s how I like to say it”, I snarkily replied.  I picked up the box and marched to the cashier.

As she picked up my “Quinnoah” box she said, “We also have ‘keenwah’ in bulk if you’re interested”.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Thursday, June 19, 2014

LIFE COACH??

I’ve taught hundreds of people to paint.  Most students are so nice and thankful and complimentary, but as in life, so goes a painting class, there is almost always a rotten apple.
Rarely have I seen anyone in such need to control, in any situation.  

She entered the room headed toward someone else’s seat.  I pointed to empty seats and she said, “but what is wrong with this place?”  I explained that someone who’d taken the class many times sat there and would be sitting there today.  Uh-oh.

I pointed to the place that was so obviously empty.  She sat down, jumped back up and said, “I need to move, I’m right -handed”.  I calmly said, “I’ll fix that”, and I changed the chair to face away from me instead of toward me.  She, begrudgingly sat down.  And for a split second all was well…..until she asked, “What’s with your list of colors?  I already have colors!!”  Another Uh-oh.  I explained that I was teaching a technique that required those colors and to teach people how to mix paint.  She said she already knew how.  I told her most didn’t who came to the class, they were just learning it.  This was all before the class began.

After everyone was in attendance, I introduced myself and then, each student spoke, addressing what their occupation was (even if they were retired), what art they’d had in their life and why they wanted to take my class.  It is always so interesting to hear what someone has done with their life and what they want to do now.  Every one was interested except the woman who complained about seating and colors of paint.  She toyed with her supplies, played with her brushes and ignored everyone.  Uh-oh, I thought, trouble for sure.  When her turn came, she loudly told everyone that she had been and still was a LIFE COACH (her age approx 60), period.  I had to ask her the other questions.  She said she’d had one class with oil painting and LOVED and ADORED her instructor who TAUGHT HER SO MUCH.  Uh-oh, I thought, the tone sounded combative to me.  Was I just imagining it?

I began to talk about the technique and the project we would be beginning today.  She was facing away from me the whole time.  Right away she interrupted me, turned and said loudly, “What is the next project, after this?”  I gently told her I was not going to talk about the second project because we were just beginning the FIRST project!  And as I continued to speak to the class she childishly said, “If you don’t tell me, I am going to leave”.  I looked at the other students.  None of us could believe this woman’s behavior.  

I said, “DO!”  She stood up and said, “I said I am going to leave”.  I said “Good!!!”  She packed up her wrong supplies with the wrong colors, wrong brushes and antagonistic canvas and screamed, “You’ll be talking a different talk after you lose your job”, and stormed out the door.

“Oh please”, I said, calling after her, “In all my years I’ve never seen anyone more controlling, rude and angry and quite frankly we don’t want your energy in this class”.  Everyone was in total agreement.  One woman exclaimed, as the black, negative energy walked out the door, “She was like a huge wet blanket, making me miserable and I didn’t want a painting class to be so negative.  Thank goodness she is GONE!”, and everyone agreed out loud.


The class was so much fun after that.  We all got a good laugh from her drama, and that broke up the tension. Gee, I hope she doesn’t preach what she practices, as a Life Coach, I mean…….right?

Friday, June 13, 2014

"Down the Street"



acrylic on watercolor paper, 
12 x 6", 2014, 185.00

Thursday, June 5, 2014

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

THEN



ALL THE BROKEN PROMISES!

“No, Po, I won’t die”.

“I’ll make sure the boys know that you didn’t leave them”.

“I’ll stop drinking”.

“I am not a pervert”.

“I love you”.

“I love you”.

Friday, May 30, 2014

"Sammy Blue Eyes"


acrylic on canvas, 14 x 14", $500

Friday, May 23, 2014

"Ele's Cactus"



pastel on sandpaper (not framed)

Friday, May 16, 2014

"Neum's Iris"



acrylic on watercolor paper

Sunday, May 11, 2014

VULNERABILITY

is not a weakness, a passing indisposition, or something we can arrange to do without, vulnerability is not a choice , vulnerability is the underlying, ever present and abiding under-current of our natural state. To run from vulnerability is to run from the essence of our nature, the attempt to be invulnerable is the vain attempt to be something we are not and most especially, to close off our understanding of the grief of others. More seriously, refusing our vulnerability we refuse the help needed at every turn of our existence and immobilize the essential, tidal and conversational foundations of our identity.

To have a temporary, isolated sense of power over all events and circumstances, is one of the privileges and the prime conceits of being human and especially of being youthfully human, but a privilege that must be surrendered with that same youth, with ill health, with accident, with the loss of loved ones who do not share our untouchable powers; powers eventually and most emphatically given up, as we approach our last breath. The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance, our choice is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or conversely, as misers and complainers, reluctant, and fearful, always at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter, never wanting to risk ourselves, never walking fully through the door.

© May 2014 David Whyte
Excerpted from ‘VULNERABILITY’ From the upcoming book of essays CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words.

Friday, May 9, 2014

"Neum's Rose"



acrylic on canvas, 8 x 8", acrylic on watercolor paper,
(not framed) 185.00

Monday, April 28, 2014

NOT Invited



She invited me over to her house to get some CD’s as mine were so old and I’d used them over and over and over through the years in my painting classes.  She had a huge array but I picked out only ten.  I asked the price and she told me they were free and that she was planning on having a huge garage sale soon.  I told her I’d come back then, that I could hardly wait for her garage sale and that I would buy more and thanked her for the ones I was taking with me.

We were friends as well as student/teacher.  We had lunch together many times; dinner, too.  We took a day trip to Santa Fe so I could show her all my haunts.  She came to my parties, I went to a few of hers.  I thought we were good friends, too.

After not seeing her for a month or more because she had too many “household expenses”, (she’d been in my class for over 2 years) she came back to class last weekend.  I was playing the CD’s of hers that I’d already grown overly familiar with.  I asked if she remembered them and she did.

I said, “When will your garage sale happen?”.

She replied, without looking at me, “I already had it.”

“What??” I asked, incredulously.  “I thought you were going to tell me so I could come to it!”.

“Yes“, she said, “I felt some kind of problem with you and the person I had the garage sale with.  It was last Christmas at the Cookie-Swap party at my house, so I didn’t invite you to the garage sale”.

“Who did you give the garage sale with?” I asked, nicely, though beginning to be really hurt by her remark.

I had never heard the woman’s name, didn’t remember meeting her at the Christmas get together and didn’t remember any kind of confrontation at a cookie soiree!!

“I don’t even know who you are talking about!” I told her.

“Well, I intuitively felt it and I will ask her, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t like you, so you weren’t invited.”

Friday, April 18, 2014

"Imagine"



acrylic on canvas, 14 x 11", $450

Sunday, April 6, 2014

No Daughters (1981)




I'm glad I had no daughters, Mother.
No jealousies of kindred spirits
or fresh young faces, eager for life
to chafe my emotional weakness.

I won't be concerned that their beauty might rival mine
and lose sleepless nights to thoughts
of all I never did, had or wanted.
I'll still always smile when I see a beautiful face.

And as I age gracefully,
I'll never hope for age, weakness and illness
to strike that daughter, not my favorite.
I'll never have to wish her harm or injury.

That unborn daughter, Mother,
will be spared the cost of living a lie
to please my selfish aims and
I won't fear her foibles, that I, too, possess.

I'm glad I had no daughters, Mother,
to grow to hate me so.
I'll not miss their earthly presence
nor fear their existence to separate my soul.

Saturday, March 29, 2014

Monday, March 17, 2014

Dear Zenitram Cram:

I haven’t heard from you or seen you since you blew hockers on my Ford Bronco in the parking lot, when I was working (you never knew I hired a private eye to find out who was spitting).  I always wanted to ask you “why?”.

Now I am almost 67 and you are almost 51.  So many times I’ve thought about you/us. I never felt any hostility from you.  I just figured we’d continue to love each other in some form or another, having been lovers at one time.  But those hockers........on my car.....why?

I digress.  It’s been twenty-one years since I last saw you.  So much has happened.  I’ve wanted to tell you about so many things.

I would have told you about how I quit smoking on April 1, 1995.  You knew me when I chain-smoked.  I was a selfish smoker.  I didn’t care who was bothered by it.  I don’t know how you could have stood kissing me.  Thank you for your patience.

I would have mentioned how I gained twenty pounds right away, too.  I was on a roller coaster of a weight gain/loss for about two years.  My highest weight was 145.  I wasn’t happy in my relationship in the 90’s and you were somewhere in Minnesota at that time, maybe even married by then.

Did I mention menopause?  During that time I gained another twenty pounds and grew bosoms for the first time in my life.  My stomach was so bloated.  I found I couldn’t eat cheese any longer, either.    The hot flashes defined my life for nine years.   Misery.

I left Santa Fe as I’d known it after Ricky K. was murdered in India (I’d been awaiting his return to make final plans to leave).  I didn’t look back, moving to Albuquerque.  I finished school in nine months (I only had a year to go at that point), and moved right after graduation, to Texas, because a “friend” (not anymore) suggested it.  

Now it seems like a bad dream I had and thankfully awakened from.  Nine years of my life a blur, not happy years.  I finally returned to New Mexico.

I heard your mother died.  I was very sorry for you in that loss.  I know you loved her.

I let my fingernails grow.  Remember how I wanted to do that?

I still grow a garden each year.  Remember how I always planted potatoes?  

Did you ever have children?  I hope so!  Is your life a happy life?

I am happy, now.  I feel content and I feel blessed in so many ways.  I am forever thankful for all that I DO have.

I would ask you why you never contacted me again.  Was it your hockers?  I will always hope for a logical explanation for that.

Sincerely,


Yllop

Friday, March 14, 2014

"Brief Respite"




acrylic on watercolor paper, 18 x 24", $800

Sunday, March 2, 2014

"Open Door" (2014)



acrylic on canvasboard, 20 x 16", $500

Friday, February 28, 2014

A Practically New Vaporizer (1982)

One beer burp was all it took;
that proverbial last straw,
and that chair he fell over
that will never stand up again
as he cruised in the front door.

He turned the fan on, off, on, off
and couldn't decide on the lighting
in the room,
as I lay in the loft above,
pretending to sleep;
fists clenched, forehead wrinkled.

Then he belched and stepped heavily
on the best vaporizer I've ever owned.
Naked and furious, I tore downstairs,
and stared in horror at the pitiful waste.

I ripped the cord out of the socket
and hurled that damn vaporizer
into the middle of the corral.

We both stood still and considered
the needless death of a
practically new vaporizer.
Soon, I slept an angry sleep
listening to drunk snoring
and not my new vaporizer.

Monday, February 10, 2014

That Damn Bob (1983)

An absolute flow of words

burst off these fingers

to keep me from thinking

about the real issues trying

to invade my brain.

But I won't let them this time, again,

and I won't listen to those

echoes of last year, month, day.

Instead, I'll search his void,

still empty promises in my mind

and try to make some sense

of all the craziness around me.

Wait!!  The few sticky, good memories

are pushing forth and I am getting weaker.

That damn Bob is somewhere

riding his drunken motorcycle

and I'd better start pacing

to keep the fury down

until I figure out

what I am going to do to him

when he gets home!

Friday, February 7, 2014

" '57 Chevy in the Snow "



This painting was the focus for two of Roger Zelazny's science fiction novels.  He bought it off the wall in a gallery, wrote the books and I was notified by a friend.  Zelazny and I met.  He loved this painting.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Short Affair (1984)

A sweet, dark place, forbidden.
Hiding, locked in an embrace
where discovery is only seconds away.

Friends in need, a common want.
Not to hurt, perhaps to heal.
To reignite the loins, gone soft, gone awry.

Lust, forgotten, not so painful now.
I stretch and wince at the memory.
Something done before like this, years ago.

His haunting eyes look so directly at me,
wanting to give beauty for hours and hours.
A dirty, lonesome room and seven minute grope, instead.

Standing, kneeling, sitting in a dusty chair
and footprints in the dirt
almost but not quite describing the immediate need.

Hushed whimpers of relief of sorts,
shame at the time of release,
both needing and wanting this moment of truth.

A soon forgotten day, no remembrances
of sun, clouds, intermittent snow and wind,
the urgency transcending beauty that never could have been.

Friday, December 27, 2013

"Summer Morning, 2013"


acrylic on canvas, 21 x 29"  $925

Friday, December 13, 2013

"Pecos River, November 2013"



acrylic on canvas, 16 x 16", $500

Friday, November 22, 2013

"Melting"


acrylic on masonite (not framed), 16 x 20", $400



(it is SO cold this morning)

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Friday, November 8, 2013

"A Road in Corrales, NM"


 acrylic on watercolor paper, 18 x 12", not framed $285

Friday, November 1, 2013

"Reflections"



acrylic on masonite, $200 (not framed- easy to ship)

Friday, October 25, 2013

"Phil Adendron #1"



 pastel on paper (framed) 1986, $600

Friday, October 18, 2013

"Phil Adendron, 2013"


acrylic on canvasboard, 20 x 16"  $400

Friday, October 11, 2013

" '44 Packard"



pastel on paper, 21 1/2 x 29 1/2", framed $1,000
This is the LAST that I have available of a long series of 
classic automobiles (other than a lithograph of a VW).

Friday, October 4, 2013

"Red New Mexico Pickup"



This is "Red New Mexico Truck" a painting from the late 80's, oil on canvas, 36 x 50" and framed. It is the only pick-up truck painting I have left. $1800

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Time AND DT


DT and I were buds in high school.  A lot of people thought I was nuts to put up with him but I liked his tenacity.  He ran for every office there was.  I think he was eventually voted Vice President for one of our years in school, by a narrow margin.

He was tall and thin, cute blondish hair cut short (the Beatles hadn’t arrived yet) and wore the obligatory madras button down shirts and khaki Levi’s with white socks and brown loafers, just like everyone else.  He had an older brother and a younger brother and they looked just like him.  Everyone in our town looked alike, for that matter, at least all the teenagers did.

Even though we were only friends, he asked me out once.  It really changed our demeanor, too, I thought.  When he picked me up in his car that had no front passenger door, I was disheartened.  My hair was so sprayed with AguaNette Hair Spray that nothing could move it, but it was worrisome anyway, driving down the street, fully exposed.  At any other time, if I hadn’t been his “date” I would have whooped and hollered and loved every minute of it.  But on our “date”, I thought it was inexcusable.   I had to busy myself with holding my skirt down, too, in all that wind. 

And, I did look a tad bit disheveled by the time we arrived.  Not to mention everyone else getting out of their parent’s Gran Prix’s and Lincoln Continentals.  At least all I had to do was just step out of the car and act as though I hadn’t just ridden in it.  But he was fun to be with and was always a gentleman and he behaved accordingly.

After we graduated, I lost track of DT for many years.  Occasionally I heard something about him; that he was alive and well and living in Austin, that he owned a bar somewhere, that he had put on weight (who hadn’t?).  I was in Austin several times through those years of my 30’s but I never found out where DT was.

In my 50’s I moved to Austin.  

I met a guy within the first six months of living there and we became lovers.  It was about that time that I got DT’s email address when his name came up at some party I attended with my boyfriend and I begged to get in touch with him.

He was so happy to hear from me.  He no longer owned a bar.  He wasn’t married.  He lived a little outside Austin in a house he built himself, along with his dog.  He sounded great.  He promised to buy me a good dinner and asked that I meet him at a specific restaurant.  I was worried I wouldn’t recognize him, after almost forty years!

When I entered the dimly lit restaurant I heard that old familiar voice scream out a “Hey gal!!”  I looked toward the table where the largest man I have ever seen sat in a booth with the table pushed very far out.  He weighed anywhere from 400 to 600 lbs.

“Hey, DT”, I said, weakly.  

He grabbed me in a bear hug when I leaned over to give him a small, “hello-after-all-these-years hug”.  He was hot and sweaty and very big.  I sat, tiny and small across from him.

His voice boomed and sprung off the walls in the restaurant that had no music or noise in it, even though at least ten people were dining there.  I tried to make small talk in a whispering voice but he wouldn’t hear of it.  He described me to the room in personal terms, “I remember how drunk you used to get and how you could belch louder than any male I ever knew”, things like that.  I got smaller and smaller in that booth.

I ate something that was Cajun and even though it was spicy I ate it quickly.  I wanted out of there!  DT talked the whole time, loudly, more about high school, etc., that stuff you talk about when you see someone for the first time in a long, long time.  And he drank a LOT of beer.  He was surrounded by plates of food, too.  I was so uncomfortable.  

As soon as there was an appropriate place in the conversation (and there weren’t many), I begged to leave, thanked him profusely for the meal and ran out of the cafe before he could say “no”.  Whew, that was just weird.

About a month later, DT called me and said he was cooking Bar-B-Q at home and would I please drive out to see his house (he was so proud of it).  I was curious to see the house and of course LOVE anything Bar-B-Q so we made a “date” (not really, you know what I mean).

I followed a circular driveway to a wonderful little house in the hill country with a screened-in porch on three sides.  It was very charming.  I was glad I came.  I could smell Bar-B-Q on the grill and I was handed an icy cold beer when I stepped onto the porch.  DT showed me around and I DID notice a VERY large bed in his bedroom, trying not to focus on that as I certainly had no intention of anything but dinner with this man.

After two beers since I’d arrived in a short amount of time. DT began to change.  He told me one or two dirty jokes and I asked him not to do that.  He then called me a “whiner” and I asked him not to do that.

He turned the steaks on the grill and asked about my love life.  I told him I had a boyfriend.  He  (angrily, it seemed) poked the steaks a lot, at that point, as I got together plates and utensils in the kitchen, staying out of his immediate vicinity.  Beer three consumed.

I barely remember dinner because I was so shaken up.  He began our dinner conversation with how he was “someday” going to write short stories because he’d lived this crazy life, etc. etc.  Beer four consumed.  Then he said things like, “nice rack” (and he wasn't talking Bar-B-Q!) and, “I wish you were sitting on my lap”.  Beer five consumed.

I considered dinner to be OVER at that point.......

“Hey Jackson”, he suddenly screamed at me as I was swallowing my last bite, “When am I going to get in your pants?”

Friday, September 13, 2013

Friday, September 6, 2013

"Blue Spruce"



acrylic on canvas, 48 x 30" $1500

Monday, August 26, 2013

"Abiquiu Reservoir, #2"



 acrylic on canvas, 20 x 24"  $725

Friday, August 23, 2013

Monday, August 19, 2013

"A Monster Sat Here"


oil on canvas, c. 1990 (sold years ago)

Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Chile Trip


Several years ago, I wanted to give walking history tours in Santa Fe.  I studied up on the history (I happen to LOVE history) of the area and applied for a job as a tour guide and they hired me (it didn’t hurt that I was wearing a very transparent, light fabric “Santa Fe skirt”, ankle length, and a “Senorita” blouse w/cleavage and a very nice concho belt).  I looked good!  I knew my stuff!

Fifteen years later and 20 pounds heavier, I applied again, as a tour guide (even though I hadn’t done that job for twelve years) in a different venue.  

Soon afterward, an unusual tour came up and I was asked to be the guide.  This particular tour took me out of north central New Mexico to south central New Mexico to the town of Hatch, home of the famed Hatch Green Chile.  I’d never been to that area, before.  I studied all the facts I could find out about Hatch, NM and about green chiles and I memorized the data just in time for the big day of The Hatch Green Chile Festival!

We started out with a nice little van that sat eight people and we were full!  After introductions and getting on the road, I started talking about our adventure!  I gave drought statistics, chile facts, how to roast green chiles, the origin of chiles and on and on, boring the heck out of the tourists and myself.  I underestimated the drive time (four hours) so I was done with my little speech in the first fifteen minutes, sigh.

Was it not for my supervisor, I would have been happily silent the remainder of the journey.  But, she had this look in her eyes and even though she was smiling and had the kindest-looking face, like she’d mother you if you let her, make you dinner if you were hungry, understand any excuse you might come up with for not being on time....that kind of stuff.  However, in reality, the more she smiled that sweet, kindly grandmother smile, the angrier she was.  She was in the row behind me and each time I looked back at her for reassurance, she was smiling, grinning, teeth showing, yipes.  I just ran out of things to say, too early!  Oh the GUILT!

After what seemed like days, but only two hours, we arrived at a large chile factory (not with the Hatch brand name).  We were shown conveyor belts with lots of people sorting chiles, boxes of chiles ready to be shipped, and little tractors bringing in the chile.  It was the usual non-interesting factory tour but it had your interest as you’d never seen it before.  I was beginning to get hungry!  I wanted to get back on the road.

Just as I thought the tour of the warehouse was finished and we could continue down the road to Hatch, a man introduced himself to us as a “scholar on green chiles”.  He had a masters degree in green chiles or maybe it was horticulture.  We were still standing indoors at this point.  I was still somewhat refreshed and cool, but hungry.

After his short introduction, he asked if there were any questions and since I was the tour guide, I asked if the chiles were organic or not.  He said there was no way to grow them organically because of too many pests and the crop was too costly to do that.  I argued with him and we bantered until I noticed a Cheshire grin on my supervisor’s face, in the back of the crowd of six people.  I backed down and let him take the reins.

One of his tics I noticed right away was his use of the word, “Okay?” after every single sentence.  I thought I’d go mad.  It was as if he dared anyone to interrupt him, negate him, question him.  I knew I needed to leave this guy alone, so he'd shut up and we could go eat.

We stood in the hot August sun, right outside the warehouse and listened to this Professor of Chile talk, and talk, and talk, and talk.  The others actually seemed interested in his nerdy lecture and they didn’t seem to be uncomfortably hot in the noonday atmosphere.  It was one of those times where I wanted to NOT be there more than anything in this world.  

I played a little game.  Every time he said “Okay?”, I shifted on one foot.  I wondered if anyone noticed as they were facing me and the chile motivator.  I hadn’t heard a word he’d said, other than the “okays”.  I became fascinated with how many times he was saying it!  Didn’t anyone else notice how peculiar it was?  I scanned their rapt faces.....my supervisor with her sweetness, a little old woman who wrote novelettes, a man who was overly skinny, almost anorexic who never said a word, two hispanic sisters, who laughed at almost everything, joyous, happy people and a heavy woman who wore long clothing, lots of turquoise and silver and talked about shamans.  They were all so interested in the talk.

Finally, after fifteen minutes or so, we moved to the van.  I was so relieved; hot and sweaty!  I was so hungry! We would have food soon!

Several miles down the road I realized we were following the "Professor" in his orange pick-up truck.  I asked where we were going.  Everyone laughed incredulously (except my boss) because I didn’t know we were going to a green chile crop in the field!  I then reiterated my statistics once again so my supervisor would think I was doing something.  No one listened.  They looked out their windows and/or talked amongst themselves, including my supervisor.

It wasn’t long before we were hauled from the van to stand in the hot sun in a hot green chile field, listening to Mr. “Okay?”.  I shifted my weight, scratched, swung at flies, sighed loudly, and finally just got back in the van after about 20 minutes.  I could have had a heat stroke and I was wearing a hat!  Screw my supervisor.  I was HOT and HUNGRY! 

The little old lady writer had to have been in her 90’s and yet she stood in that sun, bareheaded and hung on his every word.  The skinny guy was clearly infatuated with everything about a “real, live chile plant”.  I just couldn’t believe it!  What about the Hatch Green Chile Festival??  Weren’t we going to the Hatch Green Chile Festival???

After another half hour (!) they boarded the van with my supervisor coming in last, grinning for all it was worth, right up close and personal into my face.  Uh-oh.

We drove another hour and a half to Hatch, in silence with Mr. “Okay?” joining us, squeezing some of us who had had our own place, before.......continuing to talk abut green chiles, non-stop.  I pouted.

When we finally got to the entrance to the road to the festival, it was lined with cars as far as the eye could see.  I thought it would take us another hour, but it moved along at a nice pace until we found parking a mile away and walked, hungry, tired and cooked in the sun to the tents, music, gifts made from fresh chiles, hoards of people, nowhere to sit and no food.

Apparently we’d gotten there a little late and the only food left was cotton candy and corn on the cob, cooked for hours and hours.  I could have wept.  I felt faint and had to sit behind a little trailer, in the tiny amount of shade it gave me, keeping my eye on my supervisor for the time to leave the god-forsaken place.

The swarm of flies was unreal, like a horror movie.  I had never seen so many flies in my life.  They were all over me and everywhere you looked, even the dirt.  I swatted and fidgeted and we stayed and stayed and stayed, though I had no idea why, as it took not more than five minutes for our little group to see the gifts in the tents.  I complained about the heat to the others.  I complained about the flies.  I complained about why the hell would anyone hold a festival in such a place, complained and complained and complained.  There was nothing more to see other than cranky, hot, dripping sweaty people!  Let's go!

After what seemed like a week and a half, my supervisor began the mile trek back to our van and we all followed dutifully.  Oh God, I was hot.  I wasn’t even hungry anymore, because I was in starvation mode.  I didn’t look at my supervisor the rest of the drive/day, but I could feel her breathing down the back of my neck.

I dozed in the cool van.  I tried not to, but I couldn’t help myself.  I was the only person who did.  The others talked about the trip and what they’d learned.  After four hours we arrived home.  We said our goodbyes (except to my supervisor) and I swore to myself that very day that I would never go to another chile festival again, anywhere, for any reason.......

I asked for my evaluations from the trip several times through email (I was SO curious about what people thought of my defection to the van and my complaining).  I never heard another word from my supervisor and so it should be.

The smell of roasting green chiles is beginning this mid-August in our wonderful state of New Mexico!  And every time, it reminds me of my “chile trip”.  

I need to make the trip by myself, soon!

Saturday, August 3, 2013