Mattress Transport Fail

Spotted this one on the way home in Maryland.

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Charleston & beyond

We made a short stop in Charleston, which is a favorite of mine. We didn't do much, because we were so tired, but we did walk through a farmers market in Marion Square that was great - I got a sticker from a Roller Derby team - the Lowcountry Highrollers!

We also went into an Urban outfitters that used to be a theatre - in the dressing room section, there was still a grid, with batons and a few drops still hung. Our Technical Director at McCarter had even seen a show there 15 years ago.

Hilton Head is super bike friendly, which is nice, because we brought mine. There are a few bikes at the house that we're at, one of which Grant is fixing up right this very minute.

Hint for people with Droids, and probably those with iPhones - You can definitely operate them through a plastic baggie ( a thinner one at least). Makes for happier beach-going.

ALSO - a disclaimer: People seem to act all impressed with the cameras on all these smartphones. They may have crazy amounts of megapixels, but I'm still kinda meh about them. Great for documenting (much better than my last one), but not for taking really exceptional photos. You might get a good one every once and a while, but not consistently.

I'll stick with my schmancy camera for awhile, and if I do take photos with my phone, they'll probably be RETRO, because that app is AWESOME!

Road Trip

We've been on the road for almost eleven hours, we're getting close to Charleston, and I've realized several things.

1. Driving through the night totally screws up your circadian rhythms
2. Some of the best conversations happen between 1 and 3 am
3. South of the border has sketchy bathrooms that get sketchier at 4am
4. There actually is a position that I can sleep in without waking up unable to use my neck
5. I can't be sure how reliable said position is when assumed for more than an hour
6. South Carolina is a very buggy state, according to the percentage of insects currently splatted on the windshield
7. Putting eye drops in is almost an extreme sport
8. It doesn't matter how prepared you are, 5-hour Energy will make you angry. Especially at your wife when she can't find a comfortable way to sleep, and OF COURSE she must be blaming you, until you realize you're just insane from way too much concentrated caffeine
9. My phone is amazing. It kept me occupied for several hours, provided directions, and her name is Iris
10. Grant has super human staying awake and driving forever powers

Who knows what I will discover next.

Journey on!

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Trouble in River City

Signs you might be attending a community theatre production:

1. The townspeople pay more attention to the audience than to the action

2. The costumes and props don't seem to adhere to any particular time period (example - rolling office chairs and Harry Potter hardback books)

3. There seem to be a lot more children's dance numbers than you remember there being when you saw it on Broadway

4. Characters accents change from line to line and scene to scene

5. Any presence of white Keds onstage

6. Intensely long scene changes - sometimes with music, sometimes without

7. The townspeople may or may not know the choreography

8. Handpainted signs that look like they were done by a second grader on poster board with a marker

9. There are four hundred children, twenty women and six males in the show

10. There are three decent actors, and the director isn't one of them (though he is in the show)

11. The barbershop quartet's clothing almost matches

12. The band has a total of five instruments, two of which are plastic recorders

13. The townspeople may or may not know the lyrics to the songs

14. The orchestra consists of mostly junior high kids, an old lady playing the piano, and one adult male

15. The interpreters have better acting skills than the female lead

Yes - I saw Moorestown Theater Company's production of The Music Man.

And it was highly enjoyable.

And I took a picture of Mom and Deb with my crazy Retro Camera app.

New phones are wonderful

And decently easy to blog from.

I got a Droid Incredible and I love it! It's like Grant and Jason's, but smaller, more Sue-size.

Nothing much to report in life. It will probably be a pretty slow week until Saturday, when we head down to Hilton Head.

Still loving the Kindle. I feel like technology girl.

I still need a name for my phone, so if you have any ideas, leave them in the comments.

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Quincy Cover

Grant, who is the super-coolest, most wonderful one, has crafted me this fine cover for Quincy.

I decided that I wanted something handmade, instead of just buying a cover. The moleskin I had was just a hair too small, so I went in search of a book that would be just the right size, and wouldn't break my heart to tear apart.

I found several books that would be just the right size, but were near and dear to me - The Fire Cat (no way you could ever get me to pull that one apart!), Blitz, the Story of a Horse (another childhood favorite).

I settled on an old hardcover copy of The Bus Station Mystery - a Boxcar Children book. Don't worry, it's not a first edition or anything. I already have a paperback copy of it, anyway. And it was the exact right size:

Isn't it great! Grant did all the cutting and glueing and assembling. He did a much better job than I would of. Cuz he's the best one.

AND - the pages of the book are still all assembled and stuck together, so I could make them a cover and it would still be an entire book - take that Dad!

what's the biggest Nutella jar you've ever seen?

How about 11 pounds of hazelnut chocolate love? You could make a lot of crepes with that.

In exchange for helping with the mural, Carly gave me a tutorial in pottery. I made this pretty bowl! It's upside down, obviously, but it's way pretty. It needs to dry out, then be fired, then glazed, then fired again, all of which Carley will kindly do for me. The kiln she will use probably won't be fired up for quite a few months, so I'll pick it up on my next visit back to pittsburgh. But it's gonna be pretty!

For the past two days, I've been a 'visiting artist' at the school my cousin Carly is student teaching at. I showed some pictures of sets I've painted and talked about some of the processes for painting wood grain and drops. And I helped layout the beginnings of a mural in the school hallway. This is the rough sketch of what it will look like, with better lettering, of course.

All's Quiet

Haven't had very much going on, since summer officially began for Grant and me.

Watching a lot of 30Rock, hit the library yesterday, loving the consistent morning yoga. Can't wait until the weather is actually warm.

But because I post pictures in almost every post I do, here are some sketches I did on the couch Sunday night while watching a marathon of Eureka. I decided that this summer I gotta get my freehand sketching back in some sort of shape - gotta work those sketching muscles or they atrophy. They're not perfect, but I actually did better than I thought I would. Haven't really done these type of sketches since Drawing 1.

Susan.out.

she believed it

Most recent project - the colors here don't do it justice....

She's about 23"x23" and she'd going above my drawing desk.

Susan, the Insufferable Know-It-All

Sometimes I feel like an Insufferable Know-It-All. And I apologize, profusely.

I know that each and every one of you have come under the fire of this stupid "Thinks She Knows it all."

Here's my problem, and also my merit: I want the best. And I will stop at no amount of knowledge to attain it. (It's a gift, and a curse).

I tend to become interested in something, and want to know everything about it. So I research and research and eventually come out at the "best" way of doing something. Examples include, but are not limited to: Latex paint, aging techniques, Neil Gaiman, JM Barrie, living "green," making bread, italian food (and Italy in general), french food, and now living "primally." I'm sure you could list a hundred more. And I probably have done more research on all of these subjects then most everyone who actually read my blog. You've probably gotten soapbox speeches on several of these things, just by knowing me (and from Grant - he is one of my kind).

BUT you also know that if you have surpassed me or know all about something I have no idea about, but are very interested in, you've experienced what happens on rare occasions. My rapt and completely undivided (and somewhat rapacious) attention. I know it must be intense, because of the looks I have gotten while I've been giving it - a kind of deer in headlights, but still interested in sharing, look. My head might have started to behave like a sponge - sound familiar?

I'm just completely obsessed with all things "best." You know I refuse to drink diet soda or diet anything ("the dark side," as my Dad calls it), I'm usually extremely uninterested in things over-processed (artificial nacho cheese being my utter weakness). It's probably where my DIY impulses come from - especially in the kitchen. When unpronounceable ingredients are in the list of ingredients, I tend to lose interest. It's probably why I love Alton Brown so much. He gives me the science behind everything - which appeals to the cook, and the geek, inside of me.

I have to get back to my baking french bread, and my tiramisu, so I've got to cut this short.

But I love you all.

And I'm so

so sorry

for being an

insufferable

know-it-all.

Yesterday, Carrie and I went on a painter field trip to the theatre to see the set. And weren't we lucky that they were having flying rehearsal? In this crappy litte cellphone picture you can see the carpeted sand dune, pre-sand, and the flying egg. The man in the gray shirt and jeans closest to the camera is our designer, David Farley, who has a love british accent, and reminds me a bit of our dear Matt Molby, mostly because of his curls and the way he wears his jeans. The way skinny woman in the leather jacket on the ugly green stairs is the actress who is playing Amelia. Everyone else is too small for me to recognize. Have a great earth day!

The Golden Egg, and the Goose who painted it

This was friday's project. To paint the Golden Egg. At least that's what we've been calling it. It represents the fuselage of Amelia Earhart's plane. And it flies in and lands on the stage.

It's lying on it's back in this picture - it comes up to about my waist when I stand in the middle of it. When it is stood up, boards go across the beams (which I painted very prettily, if I do say so myself), and a chair (which Grant built) covered in old red "leather." It's gonna be hott.

I felt like I was painting something in a Jules Verne novel all day.

It should look VERY steampunk when it's done.

Vampire Texts

Not sure if you are interested, but my friend Kate recently started a blog called Vampire Texts, of which I am a contributor. As of right now its just her and me. She's posted two parts of her story, and I've just posted my first piece - the prologue of a short story.

Her posts are in white, mine are in the salmon pinkish color.

It started because Kate and I like to discuss and debate things, one of which is vampires - why popular media thinks all vampires like to have sex with teenage girls, which mythologies we like best, etc.

And we've been putting together our own rough ideas of "our" vampire stories. Technically, my first one isn't really following it, but you gotta write what's in your head and in your heart.

Enjoy if you want, ignore if not.

Moon Girl, Finale

The physician hesitated. He entertained the thought of running for the woods, but couldn't muster the courage, nor could he abandon Sara to face the horrid man alone. He must have paused for too long, for Keam draped a seemingly friendly, but very firm arm across the physician's shoulders.

"Come on, doctor. I'm sure you have much more important things to do today. I know after we get this…business… taken care of, I know my men and I will be busy the rest of the evening, tending to our weapons, preparing to defend the defenseless."

The physician hung his head and continued across the meadow, and toward the cliffs.

Dusk was just falling and the first few stars were appearing when he caught a flash of silver from the edge of the cliff. He stiffened. Keam felt the sudden tension, saw the flash and, with a gesture, quietly brought the whole procession to a stop.

Keam pushed the physician to his knees with a hard hand on his shoulder, motioned for a nearby soldier to guard him, then cautiously stepped toward the small girl sitting by the cliff.

"Moon Girl."

Sara started out of her daydreams at the sudden and unfamiliar voice.

The first thing she saw when she turned was the physician, on his knees, with his head in his hands, and two very large strangers standing over him. She saw the villages, standing still and grey, solemnly looking on.

Closer, Sara saw a dozen or so more of the huge smirking men. She stood and slowly moved her gaze to Keam's.

If Keam was startled at the calmness or the clarity in those little eyes, he didn't show it.

"In return for our protection of his kingdom, your King has granted us a skein of your precious hair," Keam said simply, and not at all harshly.

"He is not my King, and this is not my kingdom."

Keam chuckled lightly. "Surely, you would be saddened if it's people were harmed by the foreigners."

She tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. "And you would use this hair to sharpen your swords and string your bows?"

Keam nodded.

Sara looked at the villagers, the men, and the physician, then back at Keam.

She opened her mouth to speak and, with the slights of hesitation, said, "No."

A hushed murmur swept through those assembled. Keam colored slightly.

"Are you certain?" Keam said darkly.

Sara took a step back and stood firm.

"Yes."

"We are not averse to taking it by force," He said, looming just the slightest bit.

Her gaze flicked over the crowd again. Everyone held their breath.

Sara lowered her eyes. She gathered her hair in her fist and held out her hand. "Your knife."

Keam straightened up and with a black smile, handed it over.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sliced through the tangle of hair. Then, in one quick move, she flung the strands out over the sea.

Keam's smile melted into a stunned gape. He made a feeble attempt to lurch after them, and watched as the hairs scattered in the wind.

With a roar, he turned on her, the anger coming off him in waves.

She stared him full in the face. Her whole body trembled, but her eyes shone with defiance.

He snatched her up, his hands around her neck. There were several exclamations from the villagers and the physician cried, "NO!," but, when he attempted to stand, he was viciously thrown back to the ground.

Sara gagged and pulled at Keam's hands. He pulled her in close to his face, and started to speak, but could only sputter in anger and frustration.

Sara's attempts to escape were becoming weak, and her eyelids began to flutter.

Keam set his teeth and with a putrid sneer, spun and hurled her over the cliff face.

Everyone stood frozen in shock. The brute had thrown a small girl over a precipice, to what was certainly her death. But their shock immediately swelled to full astonishment.

Reports vary here. Some insist she must have been caught up by a huge black bird that everyone had failed to notice. Others say she just disappeared. Those too cowardly to have attended said that everyone was lying, because they did not want to think of the girls body lying at the base of the cliffs.

But every child who was present (for children, who do not feel the need to rationalize everything they see, are the most trustworthy in these situations) all told the same story. That she simply fell up, into the sky.

When thrown over the edge, it seemed the laws of nature had reversed. Her body had arched up instead of down as it should have, and she plummeted into the heavens.

The people watched long after she had disappeared from sight.

The rest of the story is uncomplicated.

Keam and his men left, without a word, and headed back to their own land. The foreigners charged straight for the capitol, where, in a quick and bloody battle, they captured the king and took his throne.

And life continued much the same for the people in the village.

The silver strands of Sara's hair had fallen into the sea, where they rested on the peaks of the waves, trailing after the Moon's reflection in a long tail, and there they remained all nights the moon shone, and there they remain still.

And every night, for as long as he lived, which was very long, indeed, the physician would go and sit on the edge of the cliffs, and gaze up at the Moon.

Moon Girl - the complete story

Moon Girl

Once, there was a girl named Sara, and she had the most beautiful hair that anyone had ever seen. It was long and silver, and sometimes it seemed to move when there wasn't any wind, or shimmer when there was no light.

Sara lived on a hillside, near the cliffs that looked out over the ocean. She slept in a small meadow, or, if it was rainy, she slept in a cleft in the cliff face. She ate fruits and nuts from the nearby forest, and drank from the clear stream running through it, and she was content.

Sara's meadow was very close to a small village. No one there knew when she had come. One day she just was. Some people said she was the daughter of the moon, some said she was a fallen star. Others said she had drifted there by the night wind. The more nasty and covetous ones would say that she was the daughter of a witch, sent to do horrible mischief, but no one really believed those stories, especially the ones who told them.

People would travel from far away to see her and her hair. Some wrote songs about it. Some wrote epic poems. Some would follow her around, trying to draw, paint or sculpt it. She was always polite, sitting still if they asked her to, but they would leave disappointed, unable to capture the mystery that glimmered about her. They would go home, and put away their paintings or their songs in a drawer to get rusty and lose their shine.

Sara's hair wasn't only beautiful, it was strong.

Every few months, the fiddle maker in the village would ask her for a few hairs to string a particularly fine instrument he had made. And the tailor would send his assistant to beg permission to pick long pieces from her hairbrush, for he was planning an exquisite pinstripe suit to send to the King, who lived far away. Birds would collect fallen strands from the meadow and use them to build their nests, which were so strong that even the most wayward boys from the village couldn't knock them down.

Sara would grant these wishes if the asker was courteous, and didn't ask too frequently. But, on occasion, an archer would ask for a strand to string his arrow with, or a soldier would ask for a few strings to sharpen his sword, and she would gently decline.

Besides these short meetings and the rare occasion that a brave child of the village would speak with her, Sara spent most of her time alone, and she was generally happy. She spent her time walking in the meadow, or playing in the forest by herself. But, on clear nights she'd sit on the cliff and look at the moon and it's solitary reflection in the ocean, (for in those days the moon's reflection on the ocean was the same as it is today on a still lake, with no trailing reflection in the water), and she would wonder if the moon was as lonely as she sometimes felt.

Life when on for years like this. The villagers grew older, some were born and some died. The fiddler maker's fiddles became the most prized of all the instruments in the kingdom, the tailor's pinstripe suits had become the new fashion, and the village, though still small, was very well off. But Sara stayed the same.

Sara had long ago made friends with the village physician, to whom she would go to pull the occasion splinter from a toe or bring any hurt animals she would come across.

One day, when she was bringing a small white fox with a broken paw to the physician, he was not at home. Sarah began to walk through the streets of the town, asking for him occasionally. As she was passing by the tavern, she heard angry and frightened voices coming from inside, one of which was the physicians. She crept over to the window and knelt under it to hear what was happening.

"NO! That can't be right!," the tailor shouted.

"I'm only telling you what I heard," said the tavern keeper.

"We're doomed. What will happen to us!" said the fiddle maker.

"Calm down, everyone," said the physician. "Let's have the facts again."

"A messenger from the village down the coast stopped in on his way to the King. He only wanted some water for his horse, and some food for his trip. He said that his village had seen ships from The Land Across the Sea," said the tavern keeper.

"That doesn't seem so odd," said the physician. "That village is a port. They trade with The Land Across the Sea often."

"Yes. 'But these ships are different,' the messenger said. He said they were war ships, and that there were many of them. His village thinks they've come to attack the kingdom!" said the tavern keeper.

"YOU SEE!" shouted the tailor. "Get your swords, get your bows and knock your arrows, get your pitchforks! Anything and Everything. We must protect our village!"

The fiddle maker sobbed into his ale.

"Calm down everyone," said the physician. "There is no use getting worked up over this. We don't know that there wasn't a terrible disaster that destroyed their smaller boats and the only ones that survived were the warships. We don't know that there aren't pirates in the water. They could be coming here to warn us."

"AND WE DON'T KNOW THAT THEY AREN'T COMING HERE TO KILL US ALL!" bellowed the tailor.

"That's true. But the news is going to the King, and he will decide what to do. The best thing now is to not worry the entire village," said the physician, as he rose to leave. Then he paused, and added in a quiet voice, "Even so, there's no harm in inspecting whatever weapons you have, to make sure they are in good working order."

Sara was frozen in shock. It took a moment for her to realize that the physician had left the tavern and was walking down the street away from her. She stood and hurried to catch him. He took the fox with his usual gentle manner, and said he'd look after it. She thanked him, but she didn't mention the conversation she had heard.

That night, as she sat on the cliff, she asked the Moon, "What am I to do?"

The Moon, as usual, didn't reply.

Even though the physician had told the others not to upset the village, the tailor couldn't help shouting at anyone who came in his door, and the fiddle maker wouldn't stop weeping. The tavern keeper kept spilling drinks, and even the physician was more stoic than was usually his habit.

In a few weeks, everyone in the town was a reduced to nervous mess, and the mood has spread to the meadow and to the cliff. Sara was alone even more frequently. Most of the more sensible animals had moved on, and Sara wondered if she should as well. But before she could give it any more thought, everything changed.

Soldiers were marching into the village. And they were different than any soldiers the villagers had ever seen. The soldiers that had passed through before always were clean and fit, polite, and wore the colors of the King. These soldiers were dirty and mean, with patchwork armor and no colors.

But their leader was the worst. His name was Keam, and he was a mercenary, hired by the King to defend the kingdom. He led his men through the village and ordered them to camp in the meadow. Keam turned to the villagers and asked to speak with their governor.

The mayor came forward, and the two men stepped into the tavern. Many of the townsmen followed.

"Why have you come here?" asked the mayor. "And why are you making camp? Shouldn't you be on your way to a village with a port?"

"When your King asked us to fight for him, he asked what we wanted in payment," said Keam. "And we told him we had heard of a girl who lives in these parts, with hair stronger than any bowstring, that will make a sword sharper than any other. We have bought many of the wares of this fine village, and have disassembled fiddles and suits to test its merits, and found all the accounts to be true. 'Give us a skein of her hair, and we will fight for you,' we told your King. That is why we camp here: to collect our payment."

The men shuffled about anxiously. Some made to protest, but the thought of the mercenaries camping just outside of the village quieted them.

Keam noticed the fear in the air, and with a big nasty grin, he stood. He towered over every man in the room. "So, where is she?" he boomed.

The physician was in the tavern that day, and was starting to slip out when Keam turned to look at him.

"Where are you going?"

The physician paused. Then he looked Keam straight in the eye. "I'm the village physician. I'm heading back to my practice to check on a patient who is resting there."

The others in the tavern glanced nervously around, which was did not go unnoticed by Keam.

Keam just stared, then stepped closer. "Well, on your way, you can show us where this girl lives." The physician held his stare. "Unless someone else would prefer to guide me?"

Everyone else looked away. Keam smirked and grabbed the physician roughly by the arm. "Okay doctor, it looks like it's you and me," and he strode from the tavern.

Without asking, Keam turned them toward the meadow. He didn't need directing, since he seemed already to know where he was heading.

He marched the physician through the center of the mercenary camp. The soldiers sneered and fell in step behind their leader. Timidly, the bravest of the townspeople followed at a distance.

In the distance, under the moonlight, a glint of silver caught in the wind could be seen, right on the edge of the cliff.

The physician hesitated. He entertained the thought of running for the woods, but couldn't muster the courage, nor could he abandon Sara to face the horrid man alone. He must have paused for too long, for Keam draped a seemingly friendly, but very firm arm across the physician's shoulders.

"Come on, doctor. I'm sure you have much more important things to do today. I know after we get this…business… taken care of, I know my men and I will be busy the rest of the evening, tending to our weapons, preparing to defend the defenseless."

The physician hung his head and continued across the meadow, and toward the cliffs.

Dusk was just falling and the first few stars were appearing when he caught a flash of silver from the edge of the cliff. He stiffened. Keam felt the sudden tension, saw the flash and, with a gesture, quietly brought the whole procession to a stop.

Keam pushed the physician to his knees with a hard hand on his shoulder, motioned for a nearby soldier to guard him, then cautiously stepped toward the small girl sitting by the cliff.

"Moon Girl."

Sara started out of her daydreams at the sudden and unfamiliar voice.

The first thing she saw when she turned was the physician, on his knees, with his head in his hands, and two very large strangers standing over him. She saw the villages, standing still and grey, solemnly looking on.

Closer, Sara saw a dozen or so more of the huge smirking men. She stood and slowly moved her gaze to Keam's.

If Keam was startled at the calmness or the clarity in those little eyes, he didn't show it.

"In return for our protection of his kingdom, your King has granted us a skein of your precious hair," Keam said simply, and not at all harshly.

"He is not my King, and this is not my kingdom."

Keam chuckled lightly. "Surely, you would be saddened if it's people were harmed by the foreigners."

She tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes. "And you would use this hair to sharpen your swords and string your bows?"

Keam nodded.

Sara looked at the villagers, the men, and the physician, then back at Keam.

She opened her mouth to speak and, with the slights of hesitation, said, "No."

A hushed murmur swept through those assembled. Keam colored slightly.

"Are you certain?" Keam said darkly.

Sara took a step back and stood firm.

"Yes."

"We are not averse to taking it by force," He said, looming just the slightest bit.

Her gaze flicked over the crowd again. Everyone held their breath.

Sara lowered her eyes. She gathered her hair in her fist and held out her hand. "Your knife."

Keam straightened up and with a black smile, handed it over.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and sliced through the tangle of hair. Then, in one quick move, she flung the strands out over the sea.

Keam's smile melted into a stunned gape. He made a feeble attempt to lurch after them, and watched as the hairs scattered in the wind.

With a roar, he turned on her, the anger coming off him in waves.

She stared him full in the face. Her whole body trembled, but her eyes shone with defiance.

He snatched her up, his hands around her neck. There were several exclamations from the villagers and the physician cried, "NO!," but, when he attempted to stand, he was viciously thrown back to the ground.

Sara gagged and pulled at Keam's hands. He pulled her in close to his face, and started to speak, but could only sputter in anger and frustration.

Sara's attempts to escape were becoming weak, and her eyelids began to flutter.

Keam set his teeth and with a putrid sneer, spun and hurled her over the cliff face.

Everyone stood frozen in shock. The brute had thrown a small girl over a precipice, to what was certainly her death. But their shock immediately swelled to full astonishment.

Reports vary here. Some insist she must have been caught up by a huge black bird that everyone had failed to notice. Others say she just disappeared. Those too cowardly to have attended said that everyone was lying, because they did not want to think of the girls body lying at the base of the cliffs.

But every child who was present (for children, who do not feel the need to rationalize everything they see, are the most trustworthy in these situations) all told the same story. That she simply fell up, into the sky.

When thrown over the edge, it seemed the laws of nature had reversed. Her body had arched up instead of down as it should have, and she plummeted into the heavens.

The people watched long after she had disappeared from sight.

The rest of the story is uncomplicated.

Keam and his men left, without a word, and headed back to their own land. The foreigners charged straight for the capitol, where, in a quick and bloody battle, they captured the king and took his throne.

And life continued much the same for the people in the village.

The silver strands of Sara's hair had fallen into the sea, where they rested on the peaks of the waves, trailing after the Moon's reflection in a long tail, and there they remained all nights the moon shone, and there they remain still.

And every night, for as long as he lived, which was very long, indeed, the physician would go and sit on the edge of the cliffs, and gaze up at the Moon.

It's done! It still needs to be typed up, mind you, and illustrated, but the writing is done!

I am so close to finishing writing Moon Girl that i'm a bit shaky...

The impossible dream is done

I've finally completed Man of La Mancha's set! Huzzah.

Sadly, I forgot my real camera and had to settle for my crappy phone camera. Oh well.

I was in today, adding a general amount of grime. The rocks were shiny and new, and I had to gross them up a bit.

It's funny, I basically took all of my colors, and one after the other sprayed down the walls. So I have almost no left over paint for this one. I probably would have used it all, except at the last minute I thought I should leave some left over for touch up.

Now I'm just waiting for rolls to rise, thinking about the steaks I'm going to cook, and trying to get Grant to pay attention to me.

Can't wait for summer, when this will be what I do everyday....

wonderful.......

This is the trailer for Neil's poem called Instructions illustrated by Charles Vess.

It's wonderful, and it's read by Neil.

If you haven't already seen it - here is the one for Blueberry Girl, also wonderful!

Instructions doesn't seem to be fitting entirely onto my blog, so if you need to go to YouTube to see it, do so.

Carrie has conquered the sand dune. It fears her rasp. She's holding a piece of the carpet that will be put on it. We were checking how our shapes look under it. Now we're cleaning up. Looks like we'll have 4 and a half garbage bags full of foam dust. Carrie wrote on facebook that, when we're carving, we look like pink snowball snack cakes!

Have you ever carved a sand dune lifesize? I have. That's been this week's project at McCarter. We've already filled up three garbage bags of foam dust. Tomorrow we'll finish up the carving, then coat it with foamcoat. Then it gets covered with a very thin tan carpet, then actual sand. If ache all over today, how will I feel tomorrow....

From hero to hobo

The marathon went great! Everyone finished, and Deb and Fawn made it in under 5 hours.

Crazy girls.

This is them after 10 miles - still looking pretty happy:

And here they are at the end, just so geeked to be finished.

The backs of the tees turned out really well. Who would have thought vinyl and spraypaint would work so well, at least on the technical shirts.

Deb says that the boards were warmer than the chilly air, and THAT's why she laid down. Sure Deb...sure.

And now, after have accomplishing her goal, she is now without a dream. She has gone the way of so many marathoners before her - that of the Sea Isle marathon hobo. Only booze can sustain her, and always champagne, to remind herself of the glory that has gone before, and the misery that remains.... And, as our friend Greg says, "pretty soon she'll start selling crack to support her running shoe habit."

For the dignity of her abandoned husband and kitty, I pray that is not the case. If you have some time, send a prayer up for all former marathon runners, turned hobos.

There are more pictures here.

On this chilly, yet beautiful day, I have been in full project mode. I've been making shirts for Deb's marathon. I did a bunch of basic tees, a few sweatshirts and tank tops, but the best are Deb and Fawn's race shirts. Didn't they turn out great. I'm going to cheer them on tomorrow, so I should get better photos of everything. The best past is that I made one for myself, which I plan to wear to the gym, and everyone will think I ran a marathon!

Today I'm working at Burlington County College's theatre, painting their set for 'Man of La Mancha.' I've already textured and base painted the walls, and obviously they've been put up. Today's project is making the walls look dirty and rotting. I have already added some different colored blocks. And sprayed some grime on the back wall. Hopefully I'll get to a good spot, so the director and designer can see it tomorrow and actually make notes. I'm hoping it won't take too much longer. It's too nice out today to be cooped up in a windowless room all day.

Palmyra Cove

Grant, Elyse and I are hanging at Palmyra Cove on this beautiful first day of spring!

The Cool Things Post

This is the post where I show you pictures of cool things.

This is the vase that Grant found/made and I put flowers in.

He found the blue base at Fozzio's, and thought, with a bunch of test tubes, it would make a sweet vase. He ordered some test tubes and they came in today.

Pretty awesome, no? We actually have another of the blue bases and some more tubes. I'm thinking - tea rack!

This is the super-awesome bracelet I picked up in Princeton yesterday at a super-cool store called Niko Niko, which had, among other things, a purse shaped like a goldfish, and a necklace that was a whistle with a built in analog clock.

I love recycled things even more than I like new things.

The Elyse Post

This is the post where I talk about Elyse visiting.

So Elyse has been here since Monday, which has been great, and very busy.

We just hung for the first 2 days, but on Wednesday we went to Deb & Matt's (& Doug's) St. Pattie's Party.

Elyse and I decided to make Chocolate Guinness Cupcakes with Irish Creme Frosting. We also cut out a stencil to use to make the shamrocks on top, cuz we're just that cool.

They were amazing. Here is the recipe.

On Thursday, Elyse and I headed up to Princeton to hang a bit before Grant got off work and we went to see American Buffalo.


Awww.... they love each other.

'

Today, after hitting up the gym, Elyse and I made Earl Grey Tea Cookies that looked like buttons. Even though they turned out a little crunchy, they went very well with some Rosemary-Infused Lemonade, plus they were super pretty, which really matters the most.

So far we've had a great visit. She leaves on Sunday, so we still have a game and a half.

Right now, she and Grant are playing the longest game of Scrabble ever. At this point it's been going on for an hour and fifteen minutes....