Ten in Twenty Ten?

Is it New Year's Eve? Indeed, it is.


I wonder if you've missed me as I've missed you. Possibly you did.



The last weeks have been for cocooning, resting, thinking, working. For listening and watching and snuggling with family. For reading and making notes and thinking some more.


For putting stuff in, so that I can bring stuff out.



It's about eleven now. The kids vowed to be up until midnight. We'll see. The chiminea is glowing outside, making a circle of warmth where tales can be told and marshmallows toasted. Like many other families, we're spending our New Year's Eve at home this year.


There is always opportunity for parties.

A few weeks ago, we decided to put out an array of bird feeders. We were rewarded in just a few days with an interesting variety of bird visitors. We were surprised when another guest appeared, apparently drawn in by the raucous bird activity.

A cat, feral and wary, sitting on our fence mostly hidden amongst the greenery, but occasionally creeping out for a closer look. And who at first would bolt at the sound of the door opening, but who now will stay put when I come outside to sit only a few feet away.


Our Mystery is thin, and so far eats every bite of any treat we leave. We tend to leave something every day. I'll not pursue, but will remain consistent, and watch and see if a relationship develops.


Indeed our eyes have met and held. Possibilities exist for more communication.


We will see.


What did I learn this year?

To wait and see what happens. That things rarely happen the way we imagine they will.

For Christmas, Aubrey gave me a copy of "Under the Dome" by Stephen King. Now I know different, but early on, when I began reading Stephen's work, I expected horror. Well sure, I got some. But what I really got was humanity. It's the humanity of his work that held me. And still does.

Ok. I like the scary too. What can I say?




This past year was a healing year for me. I struggled through most of it, finally beginning to see some light in November. I don't really need to tell you this---if you're reading this post then mostly likely you were there with me.

What I do want to say is thank you. Thank you for your insights and humor and outstanding Poppets On Tour photos. Thank you for giving homes to so many Poppets (even the unruly ones) and for glimpses into your work and your lives and your unique and surprising ideas.

Now we enter 2010. Twenty-ten. Wow. We'll all start by looking back and inside. Then looking forward and out. Then we'll see what happens. Are we 'under the dome?' Not literally but figuratively. We are all on this planet and, at least for now, it is self contained, much like a tank of sea monkeys. No help is available from outside. It's sink or swim, up to those of us who live here (will we reach 10 billion?) on the fragile surface of this tiny ball spinning fast through the cold and black and utterly unknown.

Hmm. I like the 'we' part.

I wish you every good thing for the coming year. I'm very honored to be travelling through space and time with you, through whatever will come.

Much love,

your artist

I started the day out well, with a swim, then some reading. I'm re-reading Stephen King's Secret Windows, which is more or less a book of essays about writing. I'm a huge fan of SK for many reasons. I don't like everything he writes and I rarely like the last quarter of any of his novels because he has a terrible habit of showing too much of the monster. He knows better---he said so in regards to Dracula, "In that book, if no other, Stoker grasped the fact that shadows always stand taller than flesh and blood." Despite sputtering over the endings I continue to buy his books and read them because the flavor is right and the truth shines through his spooky/fun filter so we get it without hurting our eyes. That's what he's good at, the truth.
Secret Windows is an excellent book to read before starting a new project or for stirring up the creative juices. I'm about to start work on art for the World Fantasy Convention and I consider this my 'mental yawn and stretch' in preparation.

I started reading it last night. I was a bad, bad girl. While reading I munched on a bowl of tater tots that were forgotten in the oven until they were mere cocoons of greasy, crunchy outside with nothing but air in the middle. Eating while reading is a nasty habit. I broke it years ago but made an exception last night because those tots were too deliciously nasty to ignore and because I trust my brother's advice on such. He told me, "It doesn't matter what you do, this time. What matters is what you do overall, the patterns you develop. If you're going to drink, or break a diet or take a risk or be an asshole, do it consciously. Make your decision, be aware of the consequences, then proceed without guilt and with joyful abandon."

My brother is an extremely intelligent human being. In comparison, I am but a gnat.

But now it's morning, I've had a vigorous swim and healthy breakfast. I'm dressed in my summer uniform--a beach skirt and tank that are interesting together if you're an artist but look sadly mismatched if you're not. My hair is pulled up into a wet knot and outside, I see palm trees swaying in the breeze, hummingbirds flitting in and around the feeders and sunlight sparkling off the water.

I'll pour a cup of coffee, tie on my apron and attempt to make something that scares even me. If I can do that here, I can do that anywhere.