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I really think I dreamed about the Oklahoma City tornado last night before it happened. Proof, I even posted about it here on facebook before it happened. Yes, call me a kook, but I do believe in paranormal perception, 6th senses, esp, whatever you want to call it.  I think its one of God's gifts that we all have to some degree. Read about brain wave activity and what is linked to psychic things here.

I watch Theresa Caputo on Long Island Medium and she's helped me so much to realize and guide whats going on sometimes, much more than when this stuff was hush-hush. She's incredibly gifted and I wish I knew how to "let it go". I translate too much. I need to just describe and shut up about it.

Anyway, I had a terrible dream last night/this morning or so. It was so vivid and here is what was in it:

There was some huge cataclysmic event in which people were grabbing other people's kids and "hiding them" because they knew "it" was coming. It seemed important that I know that they knew "it" was going to happen.

The thing that was happening was so bad that sheltering really didn't matter. What was coming, I didn't know. (I do lucid dreaming in which I can actually "think" in my dream and I thought it was a world war, a volcano or an asteroid because people were running to bunker-type bomb shelters.) I've never lived in tornado prone areas, so basements and bomb shelters are foreign to me.

The devastation was going to be so huge that most wouldn't survive, and the ones who did survive were walking around in disbelief that they did. All these people were just walking around, looking at familiar objects like.. zombies or something.

I kept hearing, or being infused with the knowledge that "There were two storms before this one".

Anyway people were trying to hide children so they would be safe.
We, this couple,  weren't "supposed" to be able to survive, but the children were because they were in this other area (we were separated and I didn't know why).

I then turned into one of the children at a school (I somehow turn into all characters in my dreams and see their perspectives) and I was a child, one among many, in a room with cinder-block walls. Water was coming in and I got hit from behind by what I thought was a wave, but all I knew was I was catapulted toward the wall and remember thinking, "Please God, let me go through that one window to the high left because I don't want to go straight through that cinder block wall.

These children were there in that space (it felt like "on purpose") so they would go quickly. I didn't know why they should go quickly... my brain made up some excuse why in that they didn't want them to suffer. I don't even know who they are. 

I turned into another adult who couldn't figure out why people had their hands in the air and dry dirt was puffing and flying around in the air (again, I thought this meant an eruption of some sort, after all, ash is dirt and we live on the west coast.) I saw a black wedge shaped thing that I thought was smoke or an ash cloud.

Anyway, I switched back into the child in the cinder block building area. Water came into where we were and I was trying to hold the hand of another child. That "chapter" of the dream ended abruptly and I was another character. I didn't get anything else out of that, no last moments, no nothing.

Onward, I turned into a parent (myself?) and saw fire, something on the ground was hot and coming "up"(gas lines?) and cars crumpled and mangled and abandoned. My vehicle was gone, nothing worked and I couldn't figure out how to get my child. Everything was obliterated. I saw a car that was in shape to perhaps drive, noticed that the seatbelt had been ripped and there was blood on it.

I felt the seatbelt and then started screaming with the realization that someone had been strapped in it when it was torn apart and knew that it had to be an immense force that could rip that kind of material. I thought that the person wasn't in one piece because the chances were good that he or she ripped before the belt material. It was obvious that the person wasn't alive anymore.

I turned into another child who managed to hide in a cage-like area with other children at another school. He was warning other children to not go "out there". I don't think this one had a shelter or they managed to get out of the group. They weren't supposed to survive, but they did. They were in a small, enclosed space, forgotten storage behind the school.

I saw wood panels, something that looked like boxes or wooden crates and chicken wire. It was perhaps part of the school, perhaps not but so close it could be an outbuilding. Dogs came... they were afraid of the dogs and didn't want to say anything. Some dogs didn't seem tame. One had black inside his mouth as he was barking at me.

We were afraid of how we would survive AFTER having survived the initial onslaught. They thought their parents were dead and that the dogs would bite them, so they remained hidden and quiet. (I hope there are no children who are hiding, afraid of the rescue dogs out there. I never thought of them being big and scary to kids before.)

I then turned into that other person who had seen the seatbelt. I started screaming to find my child, that I had to get "where" he was because I knew the people who had him would keep him safe, but I just couldn't get there. 

Somehow, then Moss Point popped in the dream??? And then something about the importance of the survival of the children under the age of five. (I guess that would mean preschool kids, who WEREN'T in school would be ok.) Then I was running through New Orleans and people, survivors, were sleeping outside because it was hot and they had no electricity.

I heard Devyn running upstairs and I woke up.

Two storms before this one. Two storms before this one. What keeps getting me is that there really WERE two storms that took this path, almost exactly, before this one. One in 1999 and the other in 2003.

Here's the dry part of art that does exist, even for me, the lofty, hippy goob.

After uploading the latest paintings, I've decided to paint the stories that make up my life, one. Lil' Dood was so wonderful to paint and remember, he was such a character.

Two, I need to do more big shapes with color to bring the viewer to the painting and then spend the time doing detail that sucks in the viewer further. This latest landscape is big, yet will really work well in a small space-- because its mainly made up of nothing but detail. Its gorgeous, but the contrast and shapes in the second tree from the left is the real star of the show-- and that teaches a lot.

Three, I LOVE contrast and trumped up color, and that fits with all the happenings in this life and in this body. Seems that is what this path is about, no matter how I want to steer it down a quiet road, someone comes with a bullhorn and shocks me back to... reality?? Is there any such thing. Reminds me of Tesla's
Heaven's Trail (No Way Out) lyrics.

Rude awakenings, ha ha. Remember this post?? All I want is two or three months (ok, I'm pushing it now) of *nothing* happening but forward movement (you know, people getting sick, houses falling apart, computers smoking... but then there comes a kick in the balls. (Well, powers that be, now I'm expecting it, so I got a sports cup and I'm gonna paint about it. Its fodder now.)

I'll take a lesson from Frida Kahlo, and those others wiser and greater than me, sure. Muse. A-muse. There ya go. God, I'm not taunting You--- just what that thing in fate is that keeps kicking me as soon as I try to get back up. Fine, I'll make money from it.   

I'll also do the great stories, too, the ones that are quiet and sweet. The last several days HAVE been quiet, thank God. If you don't count Devyn's trip to the ER and then doctor for impaction and the issues after that... or the possible cold he's getting now. Phew. I'm just grateful thats over! Best advice I've read this past week is: Life is not an emergency. My hair has been set on fire so often recently that I'm waking up automatically, patting myself on the head. If you get some serenity, thank God and keep it as long as you can. Nothing lasts forever, joy nor suffering.

But its been so beautiful. Sunshine. Oh, breathing in the sunshine. Getting outside to do something as mundane as washing the truck was a joy--- and seeing Stephen run after Devyn who was bookin it down our street. No one was on the verge of dying again, no one was needing an ER :) and being aware of it. Meeting Abbey and Justin across the street and Holly, Michelle's friend from New Orleans- about kudzu, voodoo, hummingbirds, labels, conservatism, liberalism, beer, clemato-beer (lol, it is good), listening to music that brought back memories of Tbone stealing cassette tapes for Susie Harrison and I :)

Bun and I going to the Women's Conference to meet a therapist who supported me in starting up art groups again. I would so love that, had given up on it due to not having  any credentials. Its so important and integral for me to do this. 

For the first time in forever, I was aware of walking into a place without self consciousness, without feeling intimidated by the business people there. Without feeling out of place. Thank you, God. Fourty is kinda cool.

Its so hard to photograph one of these kinds of paintings! The glare is from all the transparent glass-like sheen, a killer to photo, but thats why I like it. OK, at the top left going clockwise, is his little brown hen's portrait. She was always on his mind, like the Elvis song, and is therefore over his head, and is always held to the highest like in her life. Her background is Mona Lisa's background. The image in front of The Good Man is also his hen, showing how he sings his love song "Unchained Melody", probably one of the most danced-to songs ever, and is probably what he felt after she passed away before he did. (Yes, animals do grieve.) He wraps her in his song. Above her head is written "She knows she's loved." This might be about her, but its more about me :) When you find a "good man", you know you're loved.

The music goes into his chest and becomes part of him because he makes it--- a creator cannot make something that isn't of him/herself, you cannot give what you don't have, as they say.

The lower right image is his bright, strong, stout legs that defended nests, dug food and showed both boundaries and kindness. In person, you can see the various shades of green at different levels of depth through the clear resin. The barbed wire is the barbed wire I wish we'd had when the neighbor's dogs had gotten loose.

The last image, the lower left, shows me really trying to capture all the colors in his feathers at once, capturing time in one glance. The only thing I could think of that held that many colors simultaneously is glitter. His feathers dangled down like earrings sometimes, like leaves and fruit from a branch, hence that odd looking decorative deely-bob on his tail.

His feathers are also referenced in the interference and iridescent colors used in the resin-glass pieces. If you look at it head on, you can see green, move to the left and you don’t see that one, but a purple sheen showing up somewhere else. The song wraps and creates both of them.

All in all, the entire color scheme is a suggestion of the time of year in which energy picks up: spring! Early spring has the chilly, frosty mornings and sunlight afternoons. Lil’ Dood was so happy around this time of year, full of himself and doing more dances and running around chanting “butter butt”.

The only thing I regret not doing was adding the chicks, but I suppose early spring is not the chick-time, so it can be overlooked. I may put a chick or two in there somewhere later.

New Painting update! Meet Lil’ Dood, "The Good Man". He is the subject behind a true story and Candie Tallquist’s inspiration. Candie needed something for the Great Northwest Glass Quest here in Stanwood/Camano Island, and since I needed something glass-like, I experimented with various layers of resin. The paint and objects between the layers of resin symbolizes the iridescent colors in his plumage.

Candie's need was the first inspiration, this supernatural story is the second. My Dad passed away March 19, 2006… a few months after Katrina and a week after my 33rd birthday.

On the anniversary of his death several years after he passed away, I was standing outside thinking about him and the wisteria plant he had given Stephen and I. My thoughts wandered to how he had this oddball love for bantam chickens and how he appreciated the spirited little things. I thought it was funny because they were supposed to be cross and territorial.

That afternoon, I kid you not, my Mom called and said that a chicken was walking around her apartment complex parking lot and asked if I wanted it. It’s a residential neighborhood and NO ONE kept chickens. (I didn’t know Moss Point, Jackson County, MS had laws against owning chickens, so I said “Sure”.)

So, here she comes, bringing this small bag- like the ones tree huggers like us use instead of plastic grocery bags. I asked “Well, where is it?” and she said, "In this bag". So, she takes this little skinny thing out and it walks around the kitchen. We didn’t know for sure if it was a chicken because it looked scrawny, like a roadrunner… but the minute “it” saw our pet Duck, he “bowed up” making the gender and message quite clear. I complained, “Oh, no, it’s a little dude!” because they are notorious for being mean-spirited. Great, I thought, now we have this little thing to kick our butts all the time. I can't not love any animal, so, he had a home and his new name, Lil’ Dood, stuck.

We kept this little guy, crowing and all, a secret. He didn't beat us up. He did dances when we clapped our hands and sang, but he was so lonely. He followed anyone and everything around the yard, mumbling “butter butt” to us, cats, other birds and the grumpy duck. He had even gotten to the point where we could pet him and he’d let us pick him up. This doesn’t sound anything like the mean, feisty little bantams I’ve heard from old timers’ stories.

So, we get him a hen. While she was being acclimated to the yard in a separate pen, Lil Dood tried to show his appreciation for her beauty—to which, she tried to open a can of whoop-ass on him. Good for him there was at least a barrier to save his physical feelings. His emotional ones? Not so much.

She continued to whoop him at every opportunity, so we got him another one. This one must be THE one :) It was love at first sight.  Pretty soon, he was scratching the ground and offering her food. What?! This is the mean little cranky breed everyone talks about?

Later, came the chicks. He was an even “better” father than he was “husband”. During the “pregnancy”, he was a wonderful husband and doted on the hen whenever she came out and, often, scratched and danced inside the nest box at her. Just about the only time he was cantankerous was when she bumped into him while he was asleep.

After the bantamlets hatched, he would scratch and point out bugs and food, not eating it himself- instead, offering his finds to the chicks. One grew up to be another “Lil’ Dood” who often tested his boundaries, yet Lil’ Dood, Sr. never pecked him, although he did put him in his place.

I can’t remember what happened to the little hen, but he was sad and lonely after she passed. He had a good life, although one without a mate, afterwards. Eventually, loose neighborhood dogs snuck into our fenced-in yard and that was the end of Lil’ Dood and a few of our other pets. I miss him and he continues to live on in a story I love to tell.

What makes Lil’ Dood supernatural?

First, the way and day we got him, exactly on the anniversary of my Dad’s passing, on a day when random, wistful thoughts turned into a funky walking reality. This tells me that God (whatever name anyone chooses to call “It”) has both a sense of timing and humor. Secondly, in relation to my Dad, I suppose this little bantam embodied the characteristics that he wished he could have been in his life: gentle, doting and vigilant. In my Dad’s sober times, this is what we had (on occasion). I suppose this is why we mourned his alcoholism so much.

Either way, we appreciate the time we spent with such a comic relief that was Lil’ Dood, and we know we gave him a good life while he was here. Just like my Dad.