Attack of the Giant Nautical Device, and other street art

No posts for several days because I have been BUSY. The poet/artist collaboration reception at the Crossings Gallery in Zumbrota, which was the best yet. My poem received many huzzahs. A fabulous poetry meeting in Mankato with keynote by Chet Corey. And DRIVING. From Rochester to Oberlin and Oberlin to a Super8 in Marrietta, Ohio, and Marrietta to Asheville. Many wonderful things in Oberlin, which will be detailed later.

I have arrived back home--home meaning Asheville, of course. Got in about an hour ago and put the finishing touches on my art resume and I'm at the Dripolator now. In about an hour I'll choose paintings for the ladies and gentlemen of the jury and take those over.

Speaking of art--and I can only tell you this because it is extremely unlikely students at Oberlin will be reading my blog so Nick gave me permission to post the dark details--I went on a guerrilla art expedition Sunday night after I arrived at Oberlin. I took Nick and his roommate George out for Mexican food and saw their room and then we all went to bed early to try and get a couple hours of sleep before--

Okay, I haven't heard their actual theme music yet, so I keep erroneously playing Mission Impossible music in my head but you get the idea. Yes! Just as you suspected! At 3 a.m. the other members of OSA (Oberlin Street Art, a highly-confidential organization) and I converged on Nick and George's room and stealthily stole into the night with string and sidewalk chalk and masking tape and spray bottles of water and a bag of charcoal and butcher paper on which was traced a large nautical device. And chocolate, of course. (The milk, to fix it, came later.)

It was cold(ish) and windy and people's hands suffered mightily as we chalked this giant device (picture to follow as soon as I get one) on the concrete by the science building. But we prevailed and art was born, sometime around 6:33 a.m.

How often does one get to participate in top secret art with ones son? It was dramatic. And later on Monday, between naps and classes and food (breakfast at Dascomb and supper at Stevenson, if there are any Obies out there) Nick and I got together and I looked at his billions of pictures from his China trip and his Scotland trip (both this year) and Rochester and Oberlin stuff, including his giant snowman and other street art and the ninja grappling hook that George gifted him with for Christmas or birthday or somesuch. Plus we painted with my cute little watercolor set and then I gave it to him, along with a bunch of le Pens, which are his favorite art medium. I will have to hasten out for another Winsor and Newton compact watercolor set, lest I go into withdrawal. It is not wise to cold-turkey art supplies...

So, there you have it. More information than you needed on my last few days. But, if you have made it this far, here is your reward: The strangest thing I saw on the interstate today was a swimming pool. Baby blue, deep end and all. I hope it made it through the tunnel.

Spring, and ah, the parentheses are nesting

Happy Friday the 13th.

I am a triskaidekaphilic, rather than a triskaidekaphobic, so 13 is one of my lucky numbers. I celebrate any month that includes a Friday the 13th. So, happy lucky day to you all.

Today I am--get ready for a big surprise--starting things off at a coffee shop. (Dunn Brothers South in Rochester) Got up late. (After 10 a.m. yeek. (Have to nest some parentheses here. (After all, it's spring; time for the nesting of the parentheses.) The spell checker does not recognize "yeek" (which surprises me not at all) or "triskaidekaphilic" and "-phobic" (which is crazy!))) I must have needed the sleep.

New plan on the art. The guy I talked to at the gallery in Asheville strongly suggested I bring framed pieces, rather than just stretched. I looked into quick-framing options, which don't exist in Rochester, so my exhusband's girlfriend is going to be disappointed in the paintings I am taking for the jury. They're still good--in my opinion, anyway--but they are not the ones she thinks will show me off the best.

Baristas are some of the most interesting people on the planet, I am convinced. One I talked to today is a really great young photographer. Another is saving up because she and her fiance are building a pontoon after they get married and taking a trip down the Mississippi. How cool is that?

On the writing front: I have re-instituted the 2-sentences-a-day Rule, which served me so well on my last 2&1/2 novels. When I started The Secret Life of Suzuki England, I told myself I needed a tiny little goal that would keep me in it. Two sentences a day. Every day. Christmas, New Year's, hangover, headcold. They didn't have to be good and they didn't have to be long ("What?" she said. "I don't know." counts, for example.) and you don't even have to keep them, but it keeps you in the project. And 2 sentences--if your goal was 250 words or half an hour, you might think, "It's 2 a.m. and I've been out dancing with Coralee, maybe I'll wait 'til tomorrow." But instead you think, "It's only 2 sentences--I can do that in my sleep." You almost always do more, but you DON'T HAVE TO. (Plus, if you do more, it doesn't count toward the next day's goal.) It works really well.

So, after having been on semi-sabbatical in Asheville, I'm back to the work/play. Screenplay & stage play. Just a measly 2 sentences. I can do that...

Snow falling on spruces

below see the entire text of an email from Bill, who set up this blog, mostly against my wishy-washy wishes:

(evil chuckle)

I'm coffee shopping again, this time at Caribou, across from St. Marys Hospital. (No, that is correct--it really doesn't possess an apostrophe.) I'm tracking down dates of long-forgotten gallery shows of my paintings for the art resume.

Tonight I will take Zach & Jessica to supper, unless Zach is asleep. He flew to Nashville with a friend yesterday morning and they bought a car and drove it back. Didn't hit snow until Waterloo, Iowa, but then it was brutal. Zach had only Tuesday off, had to be at work first thing Wednesday morning. That's car guys for you. No distance too far for the perfect car.

change of venue:
I am now sitting in my exhusband's house, visiting with him (and sort of with his girlfriend as well, as they're IMing) while I wait for Zach to arrive. It is so nice to have a positive relationship. Makes the world a better place. Looking out the window, I see a mourning dove--one of my favorite birds--and snow falling on the black hills spruces we planted when I made my first big writing sale: $500 in 1984 for a Woman's World mini-mystery. I bought ten $50 trees. Now, when I'm here, I can see how tall my career is. I recommend it for writers. If you don't have a place to plant a tree, go to a park and adopt a baby tree when you make your first sale.

Wait a minute, you might say, snow? Isn't it April 11th?

Yes, but this is Minnesota. (If it's any consolation to Minnesotans who are feeling defensive, the jet stream dipped down and it snowed in Asheville in the last week as well. One of my friends at Toastmasters, Louis, said in his opinion there were two seasons in Minnesota: winter and bad sledding weather.)

Had a fun interaction at Caribou, where I overheard a new Mayo resident and her mom looking for an apartment, so I recommended my old apartment, which was really cool, and then ended up doing some energy work on the mom's hand. Hope it helps!

In the coffee shop--I think...

So here I am.

Sitting at a coffee shop, which is one of my favorite occupations--I write, I paint, I meditate. I recently overcame my dread of watercolors by buying a cute little set--who could be afraid of that!--and some scraps of French cover stock from a letterpress in West Asheville and sitting down at the Dripolator on Biltmore. I went from abject terror to love in a few hours. (You really don't have to do it right the first time, especially if you're playing around on scraps of French cover stock!) So I guess it makes sense that my fear of blogging was overinflated and just needed a friendly poke--or a friend to physically take my laptop from me and set it up on the spot. (Hi Bill.)

(Random addendum: my laptop was sipping cyber from another Laurel's hotspot. She was one of the first 35 bloggers in the entire country. I am such a Luddite compared to her.)

I didn't die after my first post, or suddenly get sucked into cyberspace. At least I don't think I was sucked into cyberspace. I suppose Dunn Brother's South in Rochester, Minnesota, could be a virtual figment of my electromagnetic imagination...

I've got another week of my northern trip. So far I've had an art/enlightenment class (Point Zero painting workshop at the Crossings Gallery in Zumbrota) and a science fiction convention (Minicon). I've done some dogsitting for my exhusband's girlfriend and visited with my ex-in-laws who just happened to be in town from Montana while I was. I've hung out with lots of friends and my ex and his girlfriend and my son Zach and his girlfriend Jessica and various of their friends. Zach does stuff to cars, which may include making them fly, I'm pretty sure. His del Sol's performance parts have performance parts. Upcoming is a Toastmaster's meeting and the opening reception of the Poet/Artist Collaboration show at the Crossings Gallery (I have a poem in the show and so love the painting that accompanies it that I've bought it.) and the League of Minnesota Poets spring conference in Mankato. A busy couple weeks.

While I was here I found out that I did get the condo I wanted in downtown Asheville (to be built) and the gallery there I want to exhibit in is going to jury prospective members next week--before I get back, unless I really rush. So I guess I'll ship some paintings and an artist's resume (which doesn't exist yet) to one of my Asheville friends. Otherwise I'll have to skip or severely curtail a visit with my son Nick in Oberlin on my way back. (Couldn't visit him on the way up, because he was in Scotland.)

Okay, off to the world outside the coffee shop. Remember to breathe. And to love yourself. (That's really the only commandment: Love Thyself. Not in the way that you'd say you love yourself but you'd talk about you behind your back or treat yourself badly. If you really love yourself, you've got no problem loving the neighbors. Plenty to go around. But always start with you.)